Stranger Than Fiction
by dnachemlia
Summary: Written for the NFA Death Fic Challenge and has nothing to do with the movie of the same name. Summary: A sniper's bullet changes the lives of the team in a way none of them expected.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge (maybe)

Rating: FR 15

Multi-Chapter (5 or 6, I guess, maybe more)

Characters: The usual suspects and a couple of OCs.

Genre: Angst/Supernatural. I borrowed a minor "character" from _Supernatural_, but nothing that won't be explained in the fic at some point. It's not a crossover.

Warnings: Language, violence, some dark humor and character death (as much as there is "character death" in my other fics but I figured I'd better put that in there anyway). Season 8ish, well before the arrival of Team Mary Sue.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

Summary: A sniper's bullet changes the lives of the team in a way none of them expected.

I know, I know, I have other things to be working on, but I've been thinking of this fic for a while, and for some reason my muse was suddenly in the mood to kill somebody. There's no arguing with her when she gets like that.

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_**It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens.**_

– _**Woody Allen**_

Chapter 1

It looked like it was going to be a beautiful late summer day, the kind of day that made Tony DiNozzo want to lower the roof on his convertible (if he actually had one), drive to the beach, catch some rays and oogle the bikini-clad natives while drinking a cold beer and enjoying life. Instead he was stuck inside with a mountain of paperwork and over three days until the weekend, with no real break in sight. He decided to vent some of his frustration in his usual manner, which involved taking it out on his co-workers, and one in particular.

"Hey, Probie," he said loudly and in McGee's direction. "Having any luck?"

McGee closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to glare at the Senior Agent. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?"

"Oh, sorry, Pro-o-o-bie," he taunted, drawing the name out mockingly and giving McGee one of his trademark grins. "What should be calling you, McGeek?"

McGee sighed. "Preferably not that, either. And no, I'm not having any luck, especially when someone keeps interrupting me. Don't you have your own work to do?"

"Just taking a break, Timmy. Stretching those brain-muscles, keeps them limber." McGee just ignored him and Tony winced inwardly. _Too angry to even get a dig in. I guess this case is getting on everyone's nerves._

"Keep telling yourself that, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he marched past Tony's desk.

_Ah, there we go._ "Sorry, Boss."

"Does anyone have anything for me on the case?"

"Sergeant Striker's financials don't raise any red flags, Boss," replied McGee. "Nothing you'd expect for savings or checking accounts according to his salary and pay stubs. No safe deposit boxes on record, or evidence of other accounts." He glanced up at Gibbs after reciting what he had. "I'll keep looking."

"Ziva?"

"No reports of marital strife or other problems with his immediate family. No indications of infidelity, either."

"DiNozzo?"

"Sergeant Strike was well liked in his unit, no reports of problems. They appear to be genuinely concerned about his disappearance."

"'Appear'?"

"No indications that they're lying, Boss."

"So basically, you have nothing."

Further ranting was interrupted by the ringing of McGee's desk phone, which he quickly answered.

"McGee. Yes? Yes, I remember…Ok. I understand. Thank you." He hung up the phone and looked up at Gibbs. "That was Michael Asher, Sergeant Striker's brother-in-law. Apparently the sergeant left his laptop with Asher to fix it and he says he found something that might interest us."

"Fine. DiNozzo, go with McGee to see Asher and then the two of you can re-interview Striker's unit. We're missing something."

"On it, Boss."

XXX

Michael Asher gazed up at his attacker in horror as the black-clad and masked man placed the phone back in its cradle. He was pretty sure he had just done a terrible thing, but he couldn't help it. He had been scared out of his mind that the man intended to kill him, why he couldn't even begin to guess. When the man had told him that all he needed to do was make a simple phone call, he had been relieved, until the significance of the call worked its way through his brain.

"What are you going to do? To that agent?"

"That's not your concern."

"But…I'm an accessory! I called him to get him here."

"And you played your part well. You have no idea how many people you've saved."

"How can I have saved anyone? He's a federal agent, one of the good guys!"

The man shook his head. "No, trust me. He's not. Now, I promise I won't hurt you, but I can't have you warning him, either. Sorry about this." The man placed a strip of duct tape over Asher's mouth and a blindfold over his eyes. Asher felt himself being lifted and then carried a short distance. He was then lowered (surprisingly gently) to the floor and a few seconds later he heard a door shut. He leaned back and fought the sob that rose from his throat.

_I'm so sorry…_

XXX

Tony glanced over at McGee and saw that the younger man's eyes were closed. He grinned, reached over and flipped the volume switch on the radio and was rewarded with a blast of sound from the speakers. McGee jumped slightly and turned to shoot him a dirty look.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Just keeping you on your toes, Probie."

"Right…" He turned to stare straight ahead and Tony lowered the volume again.

"So, this Michael Asher. Do you think he's legit?"

"Sounded sincere. A little nervous, maybe, but that could have to do with what he found."

"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it will be another dead end. This case is weird, you know."

"How is it any weirder than our normal case load?"

"People don't tend to disappear for no reason, and we haven't found _any _reason for Striker to vanish. As Abby would say, it's hinky."

"I suppose. Or maybe we just haven't found the reason yet, hence the trip to see Asher."

"And to re-interview his unit. That's not going to be fun."

"No, probably not."

"I can't wait for this day to be over. Must be a Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays." He glanced at McGee and grinned, waiting for him to catch the reference.

"It's Tuesday."

"Yeah, McGee, I know. It's a quote…from a movie?"

"Actually, it was used in the book first."

"Haven't read it."

"Not surprised," muttered McGee.

"Yeah, well, print is dead. Deader than our missing Marine probably is right now."

McGee shot him a strange look. "What makes you say that?"

"Isn't that how these things usually end up?"

"If you say so. But until we see the body, we keep looking. Isn't that what Gibbs would say?"

"Yeah, probably." Tony guided the sedan to the curb a few doors past the address McGee had given him. "Looks like we're here. Let's go."

XXX

The sniper waited across the street as his target exited the vehicle and walked towards the store front. He swore softly when he saw the other man, realizing that his job would be made much harder by his presence, but it was too late to back down now. He had a job to do, one that he had done many times before. Usually it was more up close and personal than this, but the situation warranted caution. Killing a federal agent would bring down a lot of heat, and he had to be able to get away quickly. He had prepared for the difficulty, and he was ready.

He watched the target move to the front door of the shop and when looked at the agent through his high powered scope, he could almost see the threads in the fabric of the man's dress shirt. He waited, his finger on the trigger, for the man to turn and allow the hollow-point bullet direct access to his heart. Finally, the man turned, presenting the perfect opportunity and he pulled the trigger at the end of his exhalation. Before the sound of the shot finished echoing through the surrounding buildings, he was packing up and leaving his nest, careful to make sure he had left no evidence behind.

He knew his shot had been true: they always were; the result of years of training, both legitimate and not. One more true shot and one less sick bastard to worry about in this world, and that gave him a warm feeling as he rushed down the narrow steps to the basement garage. He quickly stowed his rifle, climbed in the truck and started the engine. After he had left the garage, with its entrance on the far side of the building from the address where his target had been, he glanced up at the broken security cameras and smiled. NCIS was good, but they relied too much on technology. They'd be chasing their tails while he disappeared back into the woodwork.

He flipped on the radio and had to grin as the strains of Queen's _Another One Bites the Dust_ came through the speakers. He tapped his fingers in time to the music and turned his mind to his next task. He had one more thing to do before this job was done for good. He just hoped he would be able to accomplish it.

XXX

Gibbs searched through the report in front of him, hoping to catch something he missed before. There was something about this case that was bothering him, and when his gut told him something, he knew better than to ignore it. He just hoped this last bit of potential information that McGee was investigating would prove useful.

His phone rang and paused before answering it, wondering why it had prompted a sudden twisting in his stomach.

"Yeah, Gibbs." Silence. "Hello?"

"_It was a trap…"_

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs had barely recognized the strained voice as belonging to his normally brash agent. "What do you mean, a trap?"

"_The call…from Asher. It was a set up to get us here. There was a sniper waiting for us."_

Gibbs heart clenched. "What happened, DiNozzo?" he asked as he grabbed his gun and badge, motioned to Ziva and headed for the elevator.

"_One shot…that's all I heard. Just one shot."_

"DiNozzo! Focus. Were you hit?"

"_No…"_

Gibbs had a good idea what was coming next, but he didn't want to believe it.

"Tony, let me talk to McGee."

"_Can't, Boss…he's…he's dead. Probie's dead."_

_TBC…_

* * *

The movie (and book) Tony references is _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._

This will be updated whenever I can and the muse cooperates. Best I can do.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge (maybe)

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

A/N: Not a cheerful chapter, but necessary (for the challenge). You'll get a small hint of what's going on in the next chapter ;D . Edit: fixed a couple of things.

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_**A single death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.**_

_**-Joseph Stalin**_

Chapter 2

By the time Gibbs and Ziva arrived at the scene, Metro police had already cordoned off the area. Several officers had corralled the witnesses while the rest were keeping the gawkers at bay. Gibbs barely noticed, as his full attention was on his senior agent, who was leaning up against the side of the building, looking down at the body sprawled on the pavement in front of him.

Gibbs progression was soon halted by a Metro police officer who stepped across his path.

"Gibbs. It's been awhile. Sure wish it was under better circumstances, though."

Gibbs looked up at the man and sighed. "Me too, Dave, me too. What happened?"

"Witnesses said they heard the shot and saw your man go down, while the other took cover and positioned himself to return fire. They only heard the one shot, though. No one saw where the shot came from, but I suspect it was the abandoned building across the street. I've got search warrants in the works for that building and the one that your agent said they were going to visit, as well as an APB out for Michael Asher. I'll let you know as soon as the warrants come through or if we hear anything about Asher. I know it's your case, but we'll help in any way we can."

"I appreciate that, Dave. Ziva?" He turned when she didn't respond and saw that she was staring at the supine figure a few yards away. "Agent David," he said, his tone sharper than he had intended. She looked up at him and he briefly saw the devastated expression in her eyes before she hid it away.

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"Go talk to the witnesses. See if they remember anything else. I'll come get you as soon as we get the search warrants, OK?"

"Yes, Gibbs." She walked away, but the normal confidence he associated with her gait was gone.

Gibbs sighed and headed for the building in front of him. When he reached McGee, he crouched down to study the body of his agent, something he had never expected he would have to do, and examined the man for tell-tale violence. He was surprised to discover that the fatal wound was not a head shot as he had expected but instead was evidenced by a dark hole in the man's chest, surrounded by a surprisingly small amount of blood. Gibbs noted the lack of blood underneath the body and shook his head. The killer had most likely used a hollow point or some other type designed to penetrate and stop, indicating that he had meant his shot for McGee alone, lessening the possibility of killing someone else with a through-and-through.

Gibbs forced himself to take another look at McGee's face. The younger man's wide, staring eyes, once intelligent and expressive, were glazed over in death, but with a slight expression of surprise still discernible.

_Poor kid never knew what hit him._

Gibbs clamped down on the surge of fury he felt towards the unknown shooter. _This should not have happened. Why McGee? What could have possibly happened to make someone want to target McGee? Or was he __**really**__ the target? _Gibbs stored that idea away for later as he allowed himself to briefly think of McGee's family and the anguish this would cause for them, as well as for McGee's _other_ family. He pushed down his own grief, that stab of pain he always felt at such a loss. He didn't have time for it. He would only allow himself to mourn after he had found the bastard who had taken McGee's life.

Finally Gibbs rose and turned his attention away from his fallen agent to focus on the survivor of the shooting. Tony was still staring at McGee and didn't even look up when Gibbs approached.

"Tony?"

"Boss. Warrants come through yet?"

DiNozzo's voice was flat with forced stoicism, but Gibbs could see the anger and grief simmering just below the surface.

"Not yet. Tell me what happened."

"We went to address that Asher gave…McGee. There was something on the door: a picture. I hadn't even gotten a close look at it when McGee turned around and I heard the shot. I took cover and checked for the location of the shooter, but I didn't see anyone. I yelled for McGee to see if he was OK and…he didn't answer. I guess I already knew…I waited another minute to see if there would be more shots fired, but…maybe if I had gotten to him sooner I could have-."

"No, you couldn't. Trust me, Tony, there was nothing you could have done. This wasn't your fault."

"I asked him, you know, if he though Asher's call was suspicious. He said it wasn't…we really need to find him…Asher."

"We will, Tony."

He continued to stare at McGee and gave a soft, humorless chuckle.

"I keep expecting him to blink, you know? I expect him to just look up and give me that look he always gives me when I'm acting stupid. But he doesn't. He won't... Sorry, Boss."

Anything Gibbs wanted to tell Tony was cut off by the arrival of Ducky and Palmer. The M.E. approached, slower than usual while Palmer lagged far behind, more tentative than Gibbs had seen him in years. When Ducky reached McGee he stared down and gave a deep sigh.

"Oh, Timothy…" Ducky looked up at Gibbs and the lead agent could see an expression on his friend's face that he knew all too well. "How did this happen, Jethro?"

"Working on that, Duck."

Ducky surveyed the gathered crowd and Gibbs saw a flash of anger in the older man's eyes before he turned his attention to Jimmy. "Hurry up, Mr. Palmer. We need to get him out of here as soon as possible. I think these vultures have seen enough for one day. Timothy would not wish to been seen in such a state by so many."

"Y-yes, Doctor." Jimmy set his kit down and started the documentation process, although it took him awhile to get started as his hands were shaking. Ducky placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and the two shared a glance before the M.E. crouched down to examine his newest patient.

"Well, the cause of death is obvious," Ducky murmured and he carefully rolled the agent's body to one side to examine his back. "No sign of an exit wound. At least we will have something to work with when we recover the bullet…Oh, dear…" He looked up at Gibbs. "Has anyone informed Abigail?"

"Not yet, Duck."

"I hope she'll be able to…"

"She will. I'll make sure of it."

"Yes…I suppose you must." The M.E. moved McGee back to his original position and after Palmer had taken the necessary photographs, Ducky reached down and gently closed McGee's eyelids. Gibbs closed his own briefly when it hit him that he had just seen those vivid green eyes for the last time. When he opened his own again he saw Ducky staring at him with a concerned expression on his face.

"What about the rest of your team, Jethro?"

"They'll get the job done. We _will_ catch this bastard."

"Of that, I have no doubt, but what will you lose in the process? I know how these things affect you, Jethro. _All_ of you." After a moment, Ducky accepted the cold glare Gibbs gave him with a sigh and started the job of getting McGee ready for transport back to NCIS. Gibbs turned away from the sight that some part of him was still denying could exist and turned his attention to Tony.

"Let's go check on those warrants."

XXX

Warrant in hand, Gibbs and Tony entered the building. They carefully checked the small number of open rooms before turning their attention to the closed door near the rear of the shop which looked to be a closet. Tony tested the door and found it locked, but as soon as he rattled the knob, he heard a muffled thump from behind the door and drew his weapon. He waited, and when no one emerged, he quickly picked the lock and stepped back. Gibbs opened the door and both pointed their guns at the interior, quickly lowering them when they figured out what they were seeing.

A slight, middle aged man was sitting in the closet. His feet and hands were bound with duct tape and another piece had been placed over his mouth. What looked like the man's own tie was wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Tony holstered his weapon and pulled the blindfold up, allowing the obviously terrified man to see. Tears started to leak from the man's eyes and he glanced back and forth between the two agents. Tony removed the tape and the man started to cry in earnest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Hey!" Gibbs barked and the man immediately fell silent, tears still running down his face as he looked back and forth between the two agents. "Who are you and why are you sorry?"

"M-Michael Asher. I didn't want to do it. _He_ made me call Agent McGee. What did he do to him? Is he-?"

"He's dead," said Tony, barely keeping his anger towards the sniveling specimen in check. Asher's eyes widened in horror and he started to sob.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry…"

"Who is 'he'?" asked Gibbs.

"I…I don't know his name. He just showed up here. I honestly thought he was going to kill me, to rob me but he said all he wanted was for me to make a phone call. He gave me a script, told me to dial the number, and I read what was written to…that agent. If I had known what he was going to do, I wouldn't have done it, I swear!"

"Yeah, right," muttered Tony and stopped when he saw the look Gibbs gave him.

"What did he look like?" asked Gibbs.

"He was…big. Tall, you know. Muscular. He wore a ski mask so I didn't see his face or anything."

"Eye color?"

"Um…blue. They were so cold…I really thought he was going to kill me!"

"How about an accent?" asked Tony. "American?"

"Yes, definitely American. Not southern, though…not anything from the Atlantic coast, either. Midwest, maybe? But not like Minnesota or anything. It was just…flat. Nothing really stood out…"

"Did he say why he wanted you to call Agent McGee?" Gibbs asked, obviously tiring of the man's ramblings. He started to free Asher from the rest of his bindings, preserving as much of the original surface of the tape for later testing.

"He said…I asked him what he wanted with a federal agent, one of the good guys, and he said Agent McGee _wasn't_ one. Of the good guys, I mean. He said I saved a lot of people by helping him, but…Agent McGee _was_ a good guy, wasn't he?"

"The best," Tony replied as he felt a fresh wave of grief. He quickly pushed it back down as best he could. "Did this guy say why he thought otherwise?"

"No, he didn't."

Tony looked up at Gibbs and met his gaze. They now knew it was definitely McGee who had been targeted, but they still had no idea why.

"Tony, take this guy back to headquarters. Put him in interrogation. For his own safety," he added in a weak attempt to console Asher.

"Boss?"

"Then start checking our old cases for a suspect. Find out who had a grudge against McGee and the means to carry it out."

"What about-?"

"Ziva should be done with the interviews by now. Vance is sending in another team and Metro is willing to help in the search. We've got it covered."

"But Boss-."

"That wasn't a request, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss. Come on, Asher." He helped the man to his feet and led him out of the shop. Once outside, Tony noticed that the crowd had thinned considerably and the M.E.'s van was now gone.

Tony led Asher to the sedan in which he and McGee had arrived. It seemed like an eternity had passed since they had stepped from the vehicle, and Tony had to stop and take a moment to collect himself. McGee should be the one riding back to NCIS with him, but it was now really starting to sink in that he would never have his Probie riding shotgun again.

He opened the back passenger side door of the sedan and none-too-gently pushed Asher into the back seat. Tony's rage was building at the thought of being sent back to NCIS by Gibbs. He wanted to be here, to find the defining piece of evidence that led the Team to McGee's killer. Logically, he knew the faster they found a link between McGee and a likely suspect, the better, but logic wasn't ruling much for Tony at this point.

He shut the sedan door and turned to find Ziva looking at him with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes.

"Who is that?"

"A witness. I'm taking him back to NCIS in case he can actually be more useful."

"Are you all right, Tony?"

"Me? Sure, I'm fine. My partner was gunned down in front of me…not like _that's_ never happened before." Tony could feel his anger suddenly spiraling out of control. "Only problem is this time we don't even have a suspect, unless, you know, you have more crazy trigger-happy relatives running around." He regretted the words as soon as he left his mouth but he had been unable to stop them. Ziva looked as if she had been slapped. She stared at him for a few seconds before she turned and walked away, but not before he heard the soft sob that escaped.

"Ziva, I-." She spun around and he caught the fury in her eyes before she quickly hid it away beneath an outward showing of calm.

"I need to help Gibbs. I will see you back at headquarters."

Tony watched her walk away and sighed. "Damn it, Probie, you're not even gone for a day and already everything is going to straight to hell."

XXX

Jimmy had been able to keep his mind off their current occupant as he drove the van back to NCIS, even though Ducky's usual distracting commentary had been absent. Unfortunately, as soon as they arrived everything he had seen resurfaced and he hesitated as he opened the rear doors of the M.E.'s van.

Dr. Mallard seemed to notice his discomfort and confronted him. "Are you all right, Mr. Palmer?"

"Uh…no, Dr. Mallard, I'm not." He had pulled the gurney out of the van and managed to only make it a couple of feet before he had to stop.

"Perfectly understandable, my good lad. It is never easy to witness the loss of a colleague and friend. Unfortunately, death is the great equalizer, and we must make sure our friends receive the same care as those previously unknown to us. Although I must confess, while we do eventually learn to deal with these events, they never really become easy to bear."

"I'm not sure I'm…dealing with it at all."

"I will help you through it, Jimmy."

"Help him through what?"

Both men turned to see Abby standing in the doorway of the morgue bay. She saw the body bag on the gurney and nodded.

"Ah, a new case. Are you letting Jimmy take the lead on this one, Ducky? 'Cause I definitely think he's ready for-."

"Abigail, I think it would be best if you remained in your lab while we conduct our business here today."

"Why?" she asked, suspiciously. "You know I don't mind autopsies anymore, Ducky. I haven't for years."

"Yes, I know, my dear, but this situation is…difficult."

"How difficult?"

"It's someone you know," Jimmy blurted out before he could help himself and immediately blushed with shame. _So much for dealing with this as a professional._

Abby's eyed widened as she turned to Ducky. "Is that true?"

"I'm afraid so, Abigail, now, please-."

"Who is it? Is it Martin? He told me he might be going undercover, and you know how dangerous that is, and-."

"It's not Agent Reynolds. Please, Abby-."

"Ducky, just tell me."

"I am so sorry, Abigail. It's…it's Timothy."

Abby stared at Ducky in horror for a brief moment before she started shaking her head vehemently. "No, I don't believe you." Before Jimmy could stop her, she lunged forward and opened the bag to reveal the still, silent form within. Abby stared at McGee's pale features for a barely a few seconds before she found her voice.

"No. No no _no no NO NO_!" She started to back away and hit the door jamb which she didn't even seem to notice. She turned and ran, still shaking her head and her sobs could be heard echoing through the morgue as she headed for the elevators.

"I am so sorry, Timothy," murmured Ducky before he started after Abby. He paused, turned and addressed Jimmy. "Please, Mr. Palmer. Do what you can. I shall return as soon as…I am able."

"Understood, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy managed before Ducky disappeared into the hallway. He sighed and looked down at McGee. "I'm sorry, McGee. I never wanted to have to do this. I hope…I hope you understand. "

He wheeled the gurney into Autopsy with a heavy heart, saddened by the job he knew lay ahead.

XXX

Gibbs was working on processing Asher's office when his cell phone rang. He sighed and answered. "Yeah, Gibbs." He listened a few moments, closed his eyes and swore softly. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know, Duck." He snapped the phone shut and barely managed to not chuck it across the room.

"Gibbs? What happened?"

He glanced at Ziva and sighed. "Abby knows."

Ziva bowed her head and whispered something in Hebrew before looking up again. "Do you need me to…?"

"No. I need you here. The sooner we get this done…"

"Understood." She went back to work and Gibbs stepped out to make another call.

XXX

Tony had just managed to get Asher seated in Interrogation when his cell phone rang. He stepped out into the hall, ignoring the man's protests, and answered.

"DiNozzo. Yeah, Boss?" He felt the blood drain from his face and sank against the wall. "Yeah, yeah, I got it." He snapped the phone shut and swore, barely managing to **not** punch the wall. He took a moment to gather himself and headed for Abby's lab.

When he arrived, he saw Abby huddled in a corner, hugging Bert, and Ducky obviously, and unsuccessfully, trying to offer comfort. The M.E. looked up when Tony arrived and the anguish on the older man's face sent a sharp, bitter pain through Tony's chest.

"Hey, Ducky. Hey, Abby."

Abby looked up and practically launched herself into his arms. He didn't even flinch when Bert, squished between the two of them, made his trademark sound. All he heard were Abby's sobs.

"It's OK, Abbs. It's going to be OK," he said, his tone belying his words and he wrapped his arms around her. He nodded at Ducky and the older man left, patting his shoulder in sympathy on his way out. Finally Abby spoke.

"Why, Tony? Why did this happen?"

"I don't know, Abbs. I really don't."

_But I'm going to find out._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

* * *

_**On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.**_

_**~ Chuck Palahniuk**_

Chapter 3

Ducky slowly made his way back to Autopsy, resigned to, yet still dreading the task ahead. It was a situation in which he had found himself far too often, and each time he grew all the more weary of it. Too many colleagues, too many friends, lost to the violence that was an often unavoidable part of their lives. He had learned through long experience to bury the anguish he felt under his guise of professionalism, but each instance remained in his memory, from his very first case to his current one. He had discussed the issue with other medical examiners and he had disagreed with the pervasive idea that such things got easier. In reality, for himself and for many others, he suspected, it never did. One just learned to deal with it more efficiently.

He stopped just outside the Autopsy doors to watch as Jimmy prepared McGee's body for the postmortem examination. Ducky felt a small stab of pride. It wasn't a task he envied, and yet Jimmy was performing his duties with his usual proficiency. His assistant had apparently managed to work through his earlier anxiety enough to do what needed to be done. Ducky knew he would have to speak with Jimmy afterwards, to help him decompress, but for now he had no problem relying on the younger man to assist in what would be yet another heart-wrenching fulfillment of duty.

Jimmy had completed the preparation and photographic documentation of the body and Ducky was just about to open the doors when he saw Jimmy turn away and lean over the sink, his head bowed. He remained still for several moments before straightening up and making his way to one of the storage cabinets. He took out a folded sheet and walked over to the occupied autopsy table, where he unfolded the sheet and carefully covered McGee's body, leaving his head uncovered. Jimmy then left, presumably to retrieve the x-ray machine. After he had gone, Ducky finally opened the doors and stepped into the main room. He walked over to McGee and looked down at the shrouded form, remembering how he himself had treated his colleagues with the same attention to modesty. There was more of himself in Jimmy than he had expected, and it made him feel both sad and honored.

Ducky studied the agent's face and sighed. He remembered this man as he had first seen him: young, baby-faced, and earnest, trying so hard to fit in with the older, more jaded agents recently graduated from FLETC. He had grown in so many ways over the years and Ducky had come to rely on him as much as he had any other member of Gibbs' team to face down the horrors they saw on a daily basis and to do his job unflinchingly. He wondered, briefly, how far McGee would have gone had he not been taken so soon in his career. The unfairness of it all twisted the older man's heart and he sent up a silent prayer that the bastard responsible would be caught or better yet, the M.E. would one day soon find that man on his autopsy table.

Soon Jimmy returned with the x-ray equipment and a startled look crossed his face when he saw his mentor.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mallard, I didn't know how long you would be, and-."

"It's quite all right, Mr. Palmer. I do appreciate the job you have done thus far. It is quite admirable, considering the circumstances."

"Thank you, Dr. Mallard."

He patted Jimmy on the shoulder and left to change into his scrubs. When he returned, Jimmy had finished the x-rays and had moved the equipment back to storage. He stood, not looking at McGee, but at his mentor, awaiting instruction and perhaps reassurance. Ducky managed a smile, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. He took a moment to steel himself for what lay ahead then looked up and met Jimmy's gaze.

"Shall we proceed, Mr. Palmer?"

After a brief hesitation, Jimmy replied.

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

XXX

Tony didn't know how long he had been holding Abby in his arms, listening to her let out her grief, before she finally quieted. When she had asked, he had told her, as gently as he could, what had happened and she had hugged him tightly as she sobbed out her anguish for their friend.

Tony knew he had to get back to work on the case, but he also knew he was needed here, although the comfort he was offering felt hollow. He suspected it wouldn't be really OK for Abby, or anyone else on the team, for a long time.

Suddenly Abby pulled away from him and he released her as she turned away from him.

"Abby?"

"You can go now, Tony. I have work to do, and I know…I know you do, too."

"Abbs, I'm not leaving you here like this."

She rounded on him and he almost took a step back when he saw her expression. "The only thing that matters right now is finding whoever did this to Timmy, and you can't do that from here. Go, Tony. I need to get ready for the evidence Gibbs will bring me and I _will_ find something. You hear me? We _will_ find this son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, we will, Abbs, but—"

"GO!"

Tony had seen this before in Abby, these mood swings, but never this intense. He hesitated and Abby gave him a glare that would have done Gibbs proud. He knew there would be no arguing with her when she was in this state and that now she would be dealing with everything in her own way. "Call me if you need me, Abbs," he finally acquiesced before leaving the lab and heading for the elevator.

The doors slid open and Tony came face to face with the last person he wanted to see.

"Director."

"Agent DiNozzo. You want to tell me why we have a very upset civilian in interrogation?"

"Probably because we haven't figured out what we're charging him with, yet, Director," said Tony as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the bullpen, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

"I wasn't aware we would be charging him with anything."

Tony's façade cracked slightly. "He called McGee. He lured him into a trap."

Vance flipped the emergency switch and turned to face the agent.

"Under duress, and the condition in which you and Gibbs found him lends credence to that claim. Or are you suggested he tied himself up and locked himself in a closet?"

"No, Director, I'm not. But-."

"But nothing. Mr. Asher is willing to cooperate despite the treatment he has received. He may need to be here for his own safety, and that's another reason why he will remain, but as a witness, not a suspect. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Director."

Vance glared at Tony for a moment. "Every instinct I have is telling me to take you off of this case, but I don't want to deal with the fallout from Gibbs if I do. Everything will be done exactly by the book. I don't want _anything_ to jeopardize a conviction against the man who did this, _when_ you find him. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal, Director."

"Good." He flipped the switch and the elevator began to ascend. "Tell me what happened."

Tony briefly recounted the events that had taken place earlier that day. It never got easier to say, but he made sure he got the important details out. By the time he had finished the elevator had reached the bullpen and he moved to step out.

"DiNozzo."

He turned. "Director?"

"McGee was a good agent. This is not just a great loss for your team, but for the Agency as well. Let me know if there is anything I can do."

Tony managed a hint of gratitude in his voice. "Thank you, Director. Right now I just want to work on the case."

"Understood. Good luck."

The elevator doors slid shut and Tony headed for his desk. Several other agents sent him sympathetic looks, but he ignored them. There was only one thing that would make him feel better at this point, and that was to find that sniper. When he reached his desk he sat down and started to pull up their most recent cases, searching his memory for those where McGee had played a major role in taking someone down. He still couldn't really wrap his mind around a motivation for what had happened to McGee, but he had to start somewhere.

He glanced at the desk to his right, almost expecting McGee to be sitting there, just as he had seen Kate after she had been killed. This time his imagination failed him; there were no lectures from the Great Beyond. The area remained empty and silent.

XXX

Several hours had passed, and Gibbs and Ziva had completed their processing of Asher's shop. They had recovered little of use, save the tape used to bind Asher and the photo taped to the inside of the shop door. The search of the other building had also yielded little: a partial boot print and a few fibers, but no brass, fingerprints, or other direct evidence of the shooter. They did discover that all of the surveillance and traffic cameras in the immediate area were damaged or offline, potential signs of careful planning, which might help in profiling the killer.

They stored the evidence in the truck and headed back to the Yard, frustrated by the lack of evidence and useful witness recollections. No one had seen anything or anyone out of place, which provided more information for the profile if nothing else.

Ziva remained silent for most of the trip. She had barely spoken at the scene and Gibbs, still inwardly reeling from his own shock, was in no real position to help. Now he had had some time to adjust and approached the subject.

"You OK, Ziva?"

"No."

Her simple answer surprised him. In the past, she would have shrugged it off with her usual stoicism, but he could suddenly see real evidence of how she had changed in the past year.

"Will you be?" he asked and allowed his concern to emerge in his tone.

"I do not know." He saw her quickly swipe at her eyes and directed his attention back to the road. "This…this does not seem real, Gibbs."

"No. No, it doesn't."

"I…I cannot imagine someone having enough hatred towards…towards McGee to do this. He is…was…so…_mild_. What sort of person would want to harm him? He has not done the things that the rest of us have done, and—."

"Sometimes it doesn't make sense, Ziva."

"Then how will we figure out who did this? We look for motive, means, opportunity, and we have found so few of those things for this case, _especially_ motive."

"Just because…just because we don't understand the _why_, Ziva, doesn't mean there wasn't one. It's our job to find it."

"And will we?"

Gibbs turned and gave her the full force of his stare. "We will."

Ziva returned his stare before dropping her gaze with a brief nod and he returned his attention to the road.

After several minutes of silence, Ziva spoke again in a low voice.

"I am tired of losing people, Gibbs."

"Me, too, Ziva. Me, too.

XXX

Ziva followed Gibbs into Abby's lab, the box of evidence in hand, and stepped back and Abby rushed to embrace Gibbs. Ziva watched as Gibbs comforted the other woman and felt a faint stirring of resentment towards Abby's ability to express her emotions so openly and immediately felt ashamed. Gibbs had allowed her a moment of weakness, and she _did_ appreciate what Gibbs had done for her. She reflected that he always knew how exactly how to handle each of his "children", and for that they should all be grateful. She was also saddened by the fact that Gibbs always had to be the strong one, while he himself was dealing with the loss of family.

After several moments, Abby released Gibbs and turned her attention to Ziva.

"Is that the evidence?"

"Yes. Where-?"

Abby took the box from Ziva, placed in on the lab table, and then pulled Ziva into a crushing hug. She saw Gibbs' faint smile as she looked over Abby's shoulder and managed to smile in return while she hugged Abby back. Abby finally released her and stepped back, and when she saw the older woman's tear streaked face she felt her own eyes start to sting.

"It will be OK," they said to each other in unison, and then both laughed, weakly.

"Ziva, stay here and help Abby." Abby turned to protest and he held up one finger, effectively silencing her. "Help each other, OK?"

"OK."

Gibbs left and Abby started to sort through the box. "Is this it?" she asked, obvious anger rising in her voice.

"I am afraid so, Abby."

"But—."

Ziva reached into the box and pulled out the picture. "This is our best lead. The…sniper was very careful and did not leave anything else behind."

Abby took the picture from Ziva and stared at it. "This was-?"

"Taped to the door."

"Tony said Timmy saw this and turned around. What?" she asked, as Ziva was unable to keep her own brief flash of anger out of her expression.

"Nothing. And yes, he did. We need to find out why McGee reacted to it."

They both stared at the picture. It was obviously from a newspaper clipping, slightly grainy, and showed a picture of a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She had dark hair, light-colored eyes, and was rather pretty.

"Do you recognize her?" asked Ziva.

"No." They turned the picture over but the only thing on the back was a column of text, obviously an article from the same paper.

"No date, no name of the paper. It doesn't look too recent, though."

"I have an idea," said Ziva as she turned to the computer behind her and then paused. "Do you…do you mind?"

"That's Tim's computer," Abby quickly replied and then stopped. "I…"

"I do not think he will mind, Abby," Ziva said gently. "He would…want us to help each other."

"Yeah…OK. I'm sorry, Ziva."

"It is alright, Abby." She turned to the computer, called up the web browser, and started to type into the search engine. "A lot of newspapers have their articles archived online, yes? If I can search for the sentences in the article on the back of the picture, then…"

"You might be able to find the newspaper. That's…that's really good, Ziva."

"Thank you. I learned from the best." Abby managed to give her a tearful smile and she turned back to the screen. "Here we are: _The Portland Tribune_, October 5, 2005." She scrolled through the site and found the picture in the _Obituaries_ section.

"'_Karen Marie Erickson Kieley, Born March 17, 1971. Passed away suddenly on October 1__st__, 2005. Survived by her mother, Patricia Miles Erickson; a brother, Jonathan Dean Erickson, and a sister, Majorie Anne Erickson.'_ I've never heard of any of them. What does this have to do with Timmy?"

"I do not know, but at least we have something to work with now."

Abby turned to look at the remainder of the evidence. "Yeah, something…Ziva, if you would be more comfortable at your own desk, it's OK if you want to go there."

"I do not think I should leave you, Abby."

"I'll be OK. Besides, you know how well I work with an assistant," she said with forced levity.

"Abby…"

"Please, Ziva. I…I need to be alone and, please don't take this the wrong way, but…" She looked at the computer and Ziva nodded.

"It still does not seem right. I understand."

Abby nodded and her bottom lip quivered for a moment before she reached out and hugged Ziva again. "I really miss him, Ziva. It's not fair."

"No, it is not." She pulled back and looked up to meet Abby's gaze. "But we will get justice for him, yes?"

"Yes. Yes we will."

XXX

Gibbs stepped off the elevator and walked to his desk, trying not to look at the unoccupied desk across from it. Tony was staring at the screen, and intense look of concentration on his face, and jumped a little when Gibbs slammed his desk drawer.

"Boss. The Director wants to see you in his office."

Gibbs walked over to Tony's desk and looked down at his agent. "Anything?"

"I, uh…not yet, Boss. I started with the most recent cases and I've been working my way back. Nothing is standing out so far."

"Keep looking."

"Yes, Boss."

Gibbs turned and headed up the stairs to the Director's office. He knocked once and walked in, not waiting for an invitation.

"You wanted to see me, Leon?"

"Yes. First, let me offer my condolences. Special Agent McGee was a good man."

Gibbs said nothing. Vance sighed and continued.

"Do we have anything?"

"McGee was the only target, as far as we can tell. Sniper policed his brass, was careful about leaving no evidence. Looks like a pro."

"Someone ordered a hit on McGee?"

"Looks that way."

"Any idea why?"

"Working on it."

Vance was silent for a moment and then continued.

"I'm sending another team to McGee's residence to retrieve his home computer which will be sent to Cybercrimes for analysis, along with his work computer."

"You don't think-."

"We need to know if this attack was against McGee, or if it is against the Agency. Or someone else who works for this Agency."

"You mean me."

"You have made quite a few enemies over the years, Gibbs. Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind."

"It has."

"And?"

"It wasn't about me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because of what the sniper told Asher. He insisted that McGee wasn't one of the good guys. It doesn't make sense, but it does mean that it was McGee who was targeted. We need to focus on that."

"Sounds a little personal for a pro."

Again, Gibbs said nothing.

"Keep me informed, Gibbs. All of my resources are available to you. I want this man caught as much as you do."

"Kinda doubt that, Leon."

"As I told Agent DiNozzo, I want this case handled by the book."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. Are we done?"

"For now."

XXX

A few minutes after Gibbs left, Tony noticed movement in his peripheral vision and looked up in time to see Ziva settle in at her desk and start to type. Tony winced when he remembered their last encounter and rose from his chair. He stepped over to her desk and looked down at her while she, in turn, ignored him.

"Hey."

"Yes, Tony?" He tone was decidedly unfriendly.

"Ziva, what I said to you earlier…that was way out of line. I-."

"You were angry, and you lashed out. It is what you do."

"Yeah, I know…I did the same thing when Kate died." He paused at the painful memory. "Only that time it was McGee who caught the brunt of it. He…he didn't even get mad at me. He just asked me to stop."

"He understood you, Tony."

"Yeah…yeah, he did. More than I ever gave him credit."

She merely nodded and continued to type.

"Ziva, I…I'm sorry. I really am. You didn't deserve that."

She didn't reply this time, but she had stopped typing.

"He was my friend, too, Tony," she said, almost too low to hear.

"Yeah, I know…"

She resumed typing and the stopped, staring at the screen in surprise.

"What?"

"I tracked down the woman in the photo. Her name was Karen Kieley. The picture was from her obituary."

"She's dead? How?"

"Murdered. By her husband, David Kieley." She hit a few more keys. "Open and shut case. DNA and fingerprint evidence linking him to the crime. He claimed he was innocent. Died in prison six months ago."

"So why did McGee…?"

"Maybe a family friend? Or a relative?"

"I will check."

"I thought I told you to stay with Abby?"

They both looked up to see Gibbs descending the stairs.

"I identified the woman in the picture, Gibbs, and Abby wanted to work alone."

Gibbs sighed. "What do ya got?"

She quickly explained what they had found. "We are looking for some connection, but-."

"Keep looking. That's good work, Ziva. DiNozzo?"

"Nothing yet, Boss. I looked at the obvious ones, like Benedict, but there's no one left connected to his case. No family, either. It's gonna take awhile."

"Then get back to it."

"On it, Boss."

Gibbs desk phone rang and he answered. "Yeah, Gibbs. On my way."

"Abby?"

"Ducky."

"Oh."

XXX

Gibbs entered Autopsy just as Ducky closed the morgue drawer. The M.E. turned to face his old friend and to Gibbs it looked like he had aged several years since he last saw him.

"What do ya got for me, Duck?"

Ducky walked over and pointed to the X-rays on the light box. "As I initially suspected, Jethro, the cause of death was a bullet which penetrated the chest and stopped at the posterior wall of the right ventricle." He indicated the lighter, misshapen mass in the center of the x-ray. "The bullet expanded and then fragmented on impact, transferring all of its kinetic energy to the target. This was a devastating injury, Jethro, and death would have been nearly instantaneous. His heart essentially…exploded."

Gibbs felt a twist in his gut. He took a deep breath and faced the older man. "Anything on the bullet?"

"Since it was so badly damaged, I doubt Abigail will be able to define any rifling characteristics, but I had Jimmy take it to her anyway. No doubt she will do all she can to determine its source."

"Thanks, Duck."

"Jethro?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you determined…?"

"Not yet. Chasing down a few leads."

"How are Anthony and Ziva?"

"Doing their job, Duck."

"And after?"

Gibbs turned to look at the wall of drawers, his focus on the one most recently occupied. "They'll work it out."

"Jethro…I know this is difficult, for everyone. It is not a crime to acknowledge it."

"I know that, Duck, but right now…"

"I understand. But when the time comes?"

Gibbs just turned and headed for the elevator.

XXX

Abby stared at the plastic evidence jar sitting on her lab table. She had seen many such jars, many pieces of evidence, but never had she felt such hatred towards an inanimate object. The bullet, what was left of it, could not give her the answers she wanted. She couldn't tell where it had come from, what type of gun had fired it, or more importantly, _why_ it had been used to end Timmy's life. She hated the sight of it, but she was determined it would give her something, even if she had to run every test in the book.

She finally opened the jar and removed a fragment of the bullet, intent on doing analysis of the metal for elemental composition. Major Mass Spec would determine the minute traces of the components, and she would at least have something to compare if they ever found the sniper and his stash of ammo.

She carefully prepared the samples, in triplicate, and waited for the analysis completed. As her baby worked its magic, she paced. She could almost imagine Tim's reaction to her current condition, admonishing her to take a break. She wished she could see him again, just one more time, and not like she had down in Autopsy. She stopped pacing and screwed her eyes shut, trying to eliminate that memory, but she could still see it: his pale, lax face, showing none of the expressiveness she had always seen in him, even when he was asleep. She hated the idea that that image was the last she had of him. She cursed her own impulsiveness. Why hadn't she taken Ducky at his word? He had never lied to her before. Why did she have to look, to confirm what she had been told?

She resumed her pacing and finally she got a ding. She ran to the computer to check the results and stared at the spectrum in shock.

_What in the Hell…?_

XXX

Gibbs was back at his desk, helping Tony review their cases, when his phone rang.

"Yeah, Gibbs."

"_You need to get down here right now!"_

"Abbs? What-?"

"_NOW!"_

He winced and put the phone back on the cradle as he rose from his chair.

"Boss?"

"Abby. She found something."

Tony and Ziva both ran to catch up with Gibbs as he entered the elevator and they all rode down to the lab in tense silence.

When they reached the lab, Abby was pacing back and forth, muttering to herself.

"Abbs?"

"Gibbs, this is hinky. I mean seriously hinky, maybe even beyond hinky-."

"Abbs! What do ya got?"

"I was testing the bullet, it was in too bad a shape to get any striation matches, but I figured I could test the metal and match with the ammo when you catch the guy, and-."

"Abby!"

"Sorry, sorry, but I tested the metal for trace elements. You know the lead from bullets contains certain other elements, depending on the source where it was mined, but most lead in this country is recycled, so it would be hard, but since it was a rifle and those bullets are usually alloys, I figured I could find out which one, so I checked, and…this is so hinky."

"What's hinky, Abby?" asked Tony.

"The bullet! I checked it, three times, and the data are consistent. It's not lead, and it's not an alloy. It's almost completely pure…"

"So what _is_ it?"

"It's…it's silver."

* * *

A/N: Apparently there's a problem with responding to reviews, so if you don't hear back from me, I just wanted to let you know I appreciate them.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge (maybe)

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

* * *

_**To himself everyone is immortal; **_

_**He may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead. **_

_**~ Samuel Butler**_

Chapter 4

"_The bullet! I checked it, three times, and the data are consistent. It's not lead, and it's not an alloy. It's almost completely pure…"_

"_So what is it?"_

"_It's…it's silver."_

The silence that followed Abby's proclamation was finally broken by Ziva.

"McGee was shot with a…silver bullet? Why?"

Tony let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Oh, gee, Ziva, I don't know. Maybe the killer thought McGee was a werewolf!" The other three turned to glare at him and he shook his head. "This is crazy. There is no way…something must be wrong with your machines, Abby."

"Major Mass Spec doesn't lie! And don't you _dare_ suggest _I _messed up," she replied angrily. "It's definitely silver."

"Great. So, instead of looking for a pro, we're looking for a nut," Tony raged. "What kind of lunatic uses silver bullets? And where would you even _get_ something like that?"

"From a gunsmith, someone who deals with custom rounds. Or, more likely, the shooter himself made it," said Ziva. "If that is the case, it will be much more difficult to find the source of the bullet."

"Is there any way to track the source of the _silver_, Abbs?" asked Gibbs.

"If it was purchased in pure form, then maybe, but it might have been made from something that was melted down, which is going to be a lot harder to trace since we have no idea what could have been originally."

"It still doesn't answer the _why_," Tony muttered. "Why someone would use it in the first place."

"Maybe it was symbolic," mused Ziva.

"Or maybe it's a signature," said Gibbs. "Guy signs his work with the type of bullet he uses."

"A _serial killer_? You think-?"

"Or we are dealing with a paid hit and whoever did this is rubbing our faces in it. Either it's a one-time thing, or-"

"Check the databases to see if there have been any others. On it, Boss." Tony turned to leave.

"There might be a problem with that, Gibbs," said Abby, bringing Tony to a halt. "Depending on the case or jurisdiction, they may not have tested the metal at all."

"Let's hope _somebody_ did."

"What I do not understand, how does all of this relate to that photo? And why did McGee react to it?" No one had an answer. Ziva looked at Gibbs' stormy expression and nodded. "I will find out. Let's go, Tony."

After they had left, Gibbs turned to Abby. "Are you OK?"

"No, Gibbs, I'm not. The rest of the evidence is too common to pinpoint a source or lead us to the guy who did this. And this…" she held up the container with the bullet. "Like Tony said, this is crazy."

"We'll figure it out, Abbs. You should go home, get some sleep."

"No. I need to figure out the source of the bullet if I can. I don't think I can sleep, anyway, not until we find out who did this to Timmy. We owe him that."

"Yeah, we do."

XXX

Tony woke with a start and groaned. He had fallen asleep at his desk, and the position he had been in caused a crick in his neck that he rubbed, grumpily, before sitting up and surveying his surroundings. He was alone in the bullpen. He checked his watch and saw that it was just a little past 0600. He briefly wondered why no one had awoken him earlier before turning to his file cabinet to retrieve a change of clothes from the bottom drawer. He got up to head for the men's room and glanced at the desk to his right and noticed that the computer was missing. Then he remembered: one of the Cybercrimes geeks had taken it for testing, under Vance's orders. Tony huffed in disgust. The director was more worried about appearances than his people, it seemed.

Tony managed to tear his gaze away from the empty desk and made his way to the men's room. After freshening up, he returned to his desk to find a fresh cup of coffee sitting there. Ziva was at her desk, sipping her tea, an apprehensive look on her face as she waited for a document to be printed.

Tony picked up the cup and sniffed it. "This isn't going to turn my teeth blue, is it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. Ziva glanced at him and shook her head. "OK. Too bad, we could all use a good laugh, right?" A brief memory flashed through his mind and he sighed. "Especially since we don't have our 'plucky comic relief'."

Ziva turned to him with a confused look on her face, which soon shifted to understanding as she too remembered that conversation and she gave him a faint smile. "He always did know how to make me laugh, intentionally or not."

"Yeah…yeah, he did." Tony felt a sharp twist of grief as he remembered how much he had needed that aspect of Tim's presence and he forced those memories back down, focusing on their current task. "Did you have any luck with tracking down more information on the Kieley case?"

"I am waiting to hear back from the prison where David Kieley was kept. I also managed to track down some of Karen Kieley's family. Her brother, Jonathan Erickson, lives and works in Fredericksburg. Gibbs and I are going out to talk to him as soon as Gibbs gets back."

"What's his story? Erickson's?"

She pulled up the information she had uncovered on the plasma. "Jonathan Dean Erickson, 30 years old, youngest sibling of Karen Kieley. Former Marine, trained as a sniper, served two tours in Iraq. Given an honorable discharge in 2004. Married, two children, works for a CPA firm." She enlarged his service record picture and Tony leaned in for a closer look.

"6'3", 200 lbs…blue eyes. Fits Asher's description of his attacker. You sure you don't need backup?"

"No. You're staying here, working on the computer searches," said Gibbs from behind them.

"But Boss…" Gibbs stare silenced him.

"Any luck with the databases?"

"Not yet."

"Keep looking."

"Yes, Boss."

"Did Abby have any luck tracing the source of the bullet?" asked Ziva.

"Not yet. Let's go."

After Gibb and Ziva left, Tony continued his search through NCIC, his frustration growing. Nothing was showing up, and he wondered if something so simple as a lack of thorough evidence testing was going to keep him from finding an answer. He was debating where to look next when he noticed a young, dark-haired woman approaching. It took him a few seconds to realize why she looked familiar and groaned inwardly. It was Sarah McGee.

He rose from his chair as she stopped in front of McGee's desk. She stared at it for a minute before turning to him.

"Tony? Where's my brother?"

_Oh crap…_

"Sarah-"

"I've been trying to reach him for days. He hasn't answered my calls or emails. Are you all _that_ busy with a case that he doesn't have time-?"

"Sarah, did…no one notified you?"

"Notified me of what?" She looked up at him and her eyes widened when she realized the implication. "Where's Tim? Is he hurt? Is he in the hospital?"

"No, he's not in the hospital. Sarah, I'm sorry, I didn't want to be the one to tell you…"

"Oh God, no…" She put a hand over her mouth.

"Tim was killed in the line of duty…yesterday morning." Tony saw her start to fall and he barely managed to catch her before guiding her to his chair and lowering her into it. She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes as she tried to control herself, and she forced out a single word.

"H-how?"

"He was shot while we were investigating a case. I'm sorry."

"B-but…who? And why?"

"We're working on figuring that out, Sarah, and I promise you, we won't stop until we do." He glanced up towards the director's office and felt a twist of anger. "I'm really sorry you had to find out like this. I can't believe no one told you."

"T-that's my fault. I just…I got a new phone number because I was having…problems with the old one. That's part of why I was trying to contact Tim, so I could give him my new number."

"Problems?"

"It's…it's stupid."

"Sarah, has someone threatened you? Or your brother?"

"No! My old number was apparently just one digit different from some new pizza place and I got tired of getting their calls. That's all, I swear!"

Tony paused to gauge her reaction before asking his next question. "Did McGee...did Tim ever mention any recent problems? Anything that worried him?"

"No, but he wouldn't. He never wants…_wanted_ me to worry. He...he always tried to protect me. Oh, God…I can't believe…I can't believe he's d-dead." She started to cry in earnest and after a brief hesitation Tony gently pulled her into a comforting embrace. He barely controlled his own grief and anger as he listened to her sobs.

After several minutes, Sarah grew quiet, but she didn't pull away. Finally, she spoke.

"Tony? Is…is Tim here? D-downstairs?"

Surprised by the question, he let her go. "Yes, he is. Why?"

"I want to s-see him."

"No, Sarah. You don't. Tim wouldn't have wanted you to see him like that. He would have wanted to protect you."

"He…he's not going to be able to protect me any more, Tony. And I need…I need to see him. I need to know that this is…that this is real."

"It's real. I wish it wasn't, but…Tim's gone."

She glared at Tony with an expression of stubbornness that reminded him so much of McGee that he had to look away for a few moments. Finally he turned back, met her gaze, and sighed.

"Let me call Ducky."

XXX

Gibbs and Ziva stepped into the stylishly modern office and looked around before approaching the receptionist. She looked up at them and gave them a pleasant, albeit slightly artificial smile.

"May I help you?"

"NCIS," Gibbs said and showed his badge, as did Ziva. "We need to speak to Jonathan Erickson."

The receptionist's smile faltered. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," replied Ziva. "We are here on official business."

"Just a minute." The receptionist picked up her phone and quickly punched in a number. "John, there are two people from NCIS here to see you. No. Yes. Yes, I will." She placed the phone back on its receiver and looked up at the two agents. "He is on his way."

A few minutes later, a brown haired, blue eyed man in a wheelchair emerged from the inner office. He looked up at Gibbs and Ziva with mild curiosity. "NCIS?" They nodded. "Jonathan Erickson. How may I help you?"

"So much for that theory," Ziva said under her breath as Gibbs shook the man's offered hand.

"We have some questions for you about our current case," replied Gibbs after sending Ziva a warning look.

"Is this about one of my clients?" he asked, warily.

"No. It's not related to your work at all. May we speak to you in private?"

"Oh…of course." He turned to the receptionist, who was now eyeing the agents with suspicion. "Molly, let my next appointment know I might be a little bit delayed." He then looked back up at Gibbs and Ziva. "Please, follow me." Erickson deftly turned the chair around and headed back towards his own office as the two agents followed.

After they reached the office and were settled into two chairs opposite Erickson's desk, he faced them. "Now, what is this all about? I've been out of the Corps for years, so I'm not sure how I could help."

"You received an honorable discharge."

"Yes. I did two tours in Iraq and decided that was enough. I was only three survivors in my platoon after a series of IEDs took out the rest."

"And you were trained as a sniper?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Do you keep in contact with any of your platoon?"

"No. As I said, there were only two others left. I…I don't talk to many people outside work or family."

"When did…?" Ziva gestured at his wheelchair.

"Eleven months ago. Drunk driver ran a red light and t-boned my car. I've only been back here at work for five months. What does this all have to do with-?"

"The accident isn't in your records."

"Civilian hospital and my work insurance, and they haven't worked everything out yet. What's going on? What is this about?"

"Sorry, just routine questions. We're here because of a possible connection between your family and our current case."

"My _family_?"

"Your sister, Karen."

Erickson's expression was one of total confusion. "My sister was murdered by her husband five years ago, and _he_ died six months ago. What could she possibly have to do with a current case?"

"Tell us about your sister's case."

He gave a frustrated sigh. "Karen's husband, David, strangled and stabbed her to death. He claimed he found Karen when he got home from a business trip, but several witnesses saw him enter the house the night before. His DNA and fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, and the bruises on her throat matched his hands. Open and shut case, but he still pled not-guilty, and he was sentenced to life. I…I still don't believe it happened. David was…he really seemed like a great guy, and I thought he loved my sister, but…the evidence was just too much."

"Maybe he was framed."

"That's what _he_ claimed, but there was never any reason for someone to frame him. Then again, there was never any reason for him to kill Karen, at least not that we could find."

"Were you close to your sister?" asked Ziva. "There was quite a difference in your ages."

"Yes, even though she was a lot older. We talked all the time on the phone, and then online. I kept in touch with her as much as I could while I was overseas. I…I still miss her." He blinked rapidly, obviously trying to hold back tears. "Sorry." After a minute, he regained control and started up at them with thinly concealed anger. "Now please, tell me what's going on?"

"Did you sister ever mention someone named Timothy McGee?"

Confusion replaced the anger and Erickson paused to think. "No. I've never heard the name. Who is he?"

"He was an NCIS agent. He was murdered yesterday."

"I…I'm sorry to hear that, but what-?"

"Your sister's picture was found at the scene, deliberately placed for Agent McGee to see."

"You…you think he knew something about her case? He was killed because of it?"

"That's what we're trying to find out."

Erickson was silent for several minutes, apparently trying to remember. "I'm sorry, but I…I don't know the man. I don't know how he knew about Karen…or even if he did. I wish I could help you, but I really don't know. I'm sorry."

"Is there anyone else who might know?"

"Margie, my other sister, and Karen were close, too. She might know something, but…"

"But what?"

"It's going to be hard to talk to her, since she's out of the country at the moment. She's with the Peace Corps in Haiti, helping with the earthquake clean-up." He turned to his computer and typed in a few commands before writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to Gibbs. "That's the only number I have for her. I hope she can help."

"Thanks. We hope so, too." Gibbs rose from his chair and held out his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Erickson."

Erickson shook Gibbs' hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

The two agents left the office and when they reached the sedan Gibbs turned to Ziva. "Well?"

"I cannot believe I missed the medical records."

"You were looking for an _inclusion_, Ziva, not an _exclusion_. It's a dangerous mistake to make."

"One that McGee would not have made," she said with self-loathing. "And we are no closer to finding out what happened. Do you think the sister, Margie, had something to do with this?"

"I don't know, Ziva. Guess you better find out." He handed her the slip of paper and climbed into the driver's seat.

XXX

Tony had just barely made it back to his desk when Ziva's phone rang. He debated answering it and then remembered that she was waiting to hear back from the prison, so he took a chance that the call would be from there. He also needed a distraction from what he had just witnessed.

"Agent David's desk. This is Special Agent DiNozzo speaking."

"_This is Warden Greene from the Oregon State Correctional Institution. Agent David called about a former prisoner, David Kieley?"_ The man's voice was gruff, no-nonsense, and reminded DiNozzo of a sheriff he had met in Arizona a couple of years ago.

"Yes, she did. What can you tell us about him?"

"_Model prisoner. Never any problems with him and the guards. Good worker. Did quite a bit of work to help some of the other prisoners in our GED completion program."_

"Any trouble with the other prisoners?"

"_No more so than the usual. You know how it is."_

"What about visitors?"

"_He didn't have many of those. His lawyer. A friend or two. Oh, and a private investigator. That was just one time, about a year before he died."_

"How did he die?"

"_Stroke. Found him in his cell one morning, looked like he went in his sleep. Autopsy didn't show anything else."_

"I see…tell me about the PI who visited him. What was his name?"

"_Michael Douglas."_

"You're kidding." He heard a soft chuckle.

"_Nope. Guy even made a joke about it. Said he got a lot of guff. Strange, I know."_

"Not really. I once met a doctor named Brad Pitt. He did the same thing." He heard another chuckle. "What else can you tell me about Mr. Douglas?"

"_Not much. Said he was interested in the case and wanted to hear Kieley's side of the story. It took awhile for him to get Kieley to talk but eventually he did. Douglas listened, took notes, and then he left. Kieley seemed a little off after the visit, but pretty soon everything was back to normal."_

"What do you mean by 'off'."

"_He looked a bit shell-shocked, I guess, and then he mentioned to one of the guards that the truth was worse. He didn't say anything else."_

"This PI, what did he look like? Do you remember?"

"_Yeah, he was memorable. Big guy, about 6'4" and muscular, probably 200 lbs. Black hair going to gray, worn in a ponytail. Blue eyes. Looked to be in his late 50's or early 60's. I would have guessed he was military except for the hair. He looked more like a bounty hunter than a PI, to be honest."_

_I wonder if he's good with a rifle, too_, thought Tony.

"Do you happen to have a picture?"

"_I have a still from one of the security videos. Standard procedure. I can fax it to you."_

"That would be great." He gave Greene the number. "Anything else?"

"_Nothing comes to mind. Why is NCIS interested in a dead civilian prisoner and a PI?"_

"We're working on that one. Thank you for your time, Warden Greene."

"_Not a problem. I'll get the fax to you ASAP. Good bye, Agent DiNozzo."_

Tony hung up the phone and slowly returned to his desk. If this "Michael Douglas" really was the sniper, then who had sent him? And why?

The bell announcing the arrival of the elevator sounded and Tony looked up, expecting Gibbs and Ziva, but instead saw a familiar but generally unwelcome figure emerge. He barely managed a civil smile as the man approached his desk and stopped.

"Agent Fornell. What brings you here?"

"You have a rather interesting case going, with some rather unique evidence, correct?"

"How did you-?"

Fornell leaned in and spoke in a low voice. "The victim was killed by a bullet composed of almost pure silver. Can't go searching for a little detail like that and not raise a few eyebrows."

Tony felt his stomach clench. "What do you want, Fornell?"

Fornell straightened up and looked around the bullpen. "Where's the rest of your team?"

"Gibbs and Ziva are out doing interviews for the case."

"What about McGee?"

Tony sighed, wincing slightly at having to share the information with the FBI agent. "McGee was the victim."

Fornell stared at him in surprise and then shook his head. "Damn. Gibbs must be going ballistic."

"Gibbs is working to find the killer. We are _all_ working on it. Now, are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"The type of gun used is always different, but there have been several cases with these special bullets, all designed to fragment and do maximum damage, and all were the same…type of metal."

"What else?"

"I'd rather wait for Gibbs."

"No need to wait, Tobias," declared Gibbs as he rounded the corner of the bullpen, followed by Ziva. "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently I need to offer my sympathies. I'm sorry about your Agent, Gibbs. McGee was a good kid."

"He wasn't a kid, Tobias. Hadn't been for quite some time."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"I repeat: what are you doing here?"

"Got some similar cases on the books. I thought you'd want to take a look."

Gibbs stared at Fornell, his expression unreadable. "How many?"

Fornell sighed. "Too many, and all frustrating as hell. Should we use your regular office?"

"No. Tony, Ziva, conference room. Now." They scrambled to comply and Gibbs followed them. He turned to the FBI agent. "You coming or what?"

Fornell managed a smile and followed. This was going to be interesting…


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge (maybe)

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

Two more chapters to go.

* * *

_**A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.**_

_**~ Thomas Mann**_

Chapter 5

Fornell followed Gibbs' team into the conference room and closed the door behind him. He waited until David and DiNozzo were seated and Gibbs had chosen his place to stand before he placed his briefcase on the table and opened it. He looked around the room and surveyed the wary expressions on the faces of the occupants. This case would be a hard sell at best, and a potential disaster at worst, but he also knew that if anyone could muster the drive to solve it, this group would. Still, he had to choose his words carefully.

"As I told Agent DiNozzo," he began, "the rather unique evidence in the case caught our attention. There have been several similar cases over the years, and we have been working to connect them to a suspect…or suspects."

"Wait," interrupted DiNozzo. "You think there's more than one person that would actually use-"

"I'm getting to that, and yes, we do. The suspected weapon type and the composition of the bullets themselves indicate that we have more than one perpetrator." He waited for further exclamations of disbelief, and when there were none, he continued. "These killings go back at least thirty years that we've been able to find…so far."

"So far?" asked Gibbs. "You think there will be more?"

"Yes. We've had someone working on this for awhile, now, and they keep finding more cases."

"So who's working on it? Agent Mulder or Agent Scully?" snarked DiNozzo, who subsequently received a hard smack to the back of his head.

Fornell shook his head and barely managed to hide a smile. One of these days he'd have to ask Gibbs how he managed to get away with that particular form of discipline.

"How many victims?" asked Agent David.

"Including Agent McGee…twenty-seven."

"_What?_" yelled DiNizzo as he sprang to his feet. "_Twenty-seven__?_ And you never-"

"Sit down, DiNozzo," barked Gibbs, before turning to Fornell. "You better have a good explanation for this, Tobias."

"Oh, come on, Jethro. Can you imagine the field day the press would have with this if it got out? We'd never catch the guys with that much attention on the case."

"So what _are_ you doing about it?"

"Investigating. These cases…there's so little to go on: twenty-seven victims, absolutely no connection between any of them and the only evidence we have are the bullets. No consistency in the type of weapon, some have been rifles and the victims were shot from a distance, but most have been handguns, and no specific caliber. The composition of the silver itself has variation, too. To make matters worse, there have never been any witnesses."

"We have a witness," said Gibbs.

"We might even have a picture of the killer," added DiNozzo, much to the apparent surprise of the rest of his team. "I'll be right back," he quickly left the room, slamming the door a little harder than necessary.

"Who was the witness? DiNozzo?"

"DiNozzo was with McGee when he was killed, but the killer set up a trap. He had a man named Michael Asher call McGee to get him to the place where he was shot. Asher described his assailant as being large and muscular with blue eyes and no accent."

"What else?"

"Asher argued with him about McGee being one of the 'good guys' and the killer said McGee wasn't. That was pretty much it."

"Sounds personal."

"The big question is _why_. What can you tell me about the other victims?"

Fornell sighed. "Normal, decent human beings, from all reports I've found." He pulled a stack of folders out of his briefcase and set them on the table. He picked up the top folder and opened it. "The last victim, before McGee: Brian Mulvaney, 35 years old, elementary school teacher in Great Falls, Minnesota. Married ten years, two kids, not so much as a parking ticket. Found dead in park two miles from his home, apparently killed while out jogging." He slammed the folder onto the table and opened the next. "Alicia Evans, 23 years old, bank teller in Amarillo, Texas. Unmarried. No violations. Found dead in the parking lot next to her place of work." He opened a third folder. "Marcus White, 30 years old, computer technician for a medical testing facility in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Widower, one daughter. One citation for speeding. Found in a dumpster behind a local high school. They're all like that, yet there's still no concrete connection."

"Maybe the randomness is on purpose," suggested Agent David. "To hide the true intended target."

"Possible, but unlikely, considering the time frame and distance between kills. There is one thing we have found, but we're not even sure if it's significant."

"What is it?"

Before Fornell could answer, DiNozzo returned, paper in hand. "Faxed in from the Oregon State Correctional Institution: video capture of one of David Kieley's visitors." He put the picture down on the table and the other three leaned in to look. "I already sent a copy down to Abby to run through facial recognition."

"Who the hell is David Kieley?"

"Husband and convicted murderer of Karen Kieley. Her picture was taped to the door of the building where McGee was shot."

Fornell glanced up at Gibbs before returning his attention to DiNozzo. "That's new. Do you know why?"

"Working on it."

"What does Kieley have to say about it?"

"Nothing. He died six months ago." He pointed to the picture. "This guy visited Kieley about a year prior to his death."

"Any idea why?"

"Not yet."

Fornell pointed to the picture. "So who is he?"

"A private investigator named Michael Douglas." DiNozzo ignored the odd looks he got from the others. "I'll start a search for him ASAP, but something tells me I won't find anything."

Fornell remained silent, trying to process everything. Finally he spoke.

"This is a definite break in the pattern, plus McGee was a much higher risk target than any of the rest. Could just be a coincidence."

"No such thing, Tobias. You said there was something else?"

"Yes. For the most recent victims who still had family or friends that could be contacted, they all reported that each victim seemed a little 'off' prior to their death." He soon saw he had DiNozzo's attention.

"'Off'? What did they mean by that?"

"Usually that their moods were different: quicker to anger, that sort of thing. They also made small mistakes in everyday things. Did you see any of that with McGee?"

"Not really. He got mad at me for calling him 'Probie' and he hasn't done that for quite awhile. Otherwise, no."

They turned their attention to Agent David and she shook her head. "I did not notice anything unusual in McGee's behavior before he…died."

"You think the victims knew they had been targeted?" Gibbs asked Fornell.

"It's possible, even though we could find no record of threats, verbal or otherwise."

The room was silent for several moments as the group considered what they had learned.

"You want a fresh set of eyes," said Gibbs, breaking the silence. "You still believe there's still some connection, even though the circumstances of our case are different."

"You know me too well, Jethro."

Gibbs turned to his team. "DiNozzo, find Douglas. Ziva, start with the other victims."

"On it, Boss."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Fornell silently removed a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it to Agent David. She gave her boss one last glance before she and DiNozzo left the room. After the door closed, Fornell turned to Gibbs.

"Guess you'll be informing your director, and I'll be informing mine."

"This better not be some damn goose chase, Tobias."

"I don't think it will be, Jethro."

"No, just a chance for the FBI to get us to do their work for them."

"Your team _is_ motivated, Jethro, and I'm sure you'll agree: this has gone on long enough."

"Yeah. Too bad it didn't end at least a victim sooner…"

XXX

Vance placed his phone back on the receiver and sighed. He really hated that kind of call, especially in the wake of Sarah McGee's visit and breakdown in his office earlier. He sincerely hoped Gibbs' team was making progress on the case, because he could certainly use a little good news right about now.

As if on cue, Gibbs walked into his office without knocking.

"My secretary is there for a reason, Gibbs." The man gave him one of those annoying half smirks and he sighed again. "Any news?"

"The FBI has a collection of cases that might be connected, Leon. We'll be working with them on this."

"So nice of you to clear this with me ahead of time, Agent Gibbs," snapped Vance. "How many cases are we talking about, and how are they related?"

"Twenty six cases, going back thirty years. McGee makes twenty seven. Same kind of metal bullet."

Vance stared at Gibbs in shock, taking several moments to recover. "_Twenty-seven?_ Are we dealing with some sort of a serial killer?"

"Or killers. Fornell thinks it's more than one."

"Great…"

"Did Cybercrimes get anything from McGee's computers?"

"There was nothing on his work computer that raised any red flags. They're still working on his home computer and laptop. They're heavily encrypted."

"Yeah, well, this _is_ McGee we're talking about here…" Vance caught the briefest flash of grief that crossed Gibbs' face, but he decided not to bring attention to it.

"Why did you want to know?"

"It's possible the victims knew they were targeted. I want to know if McGee received any threats."

"None that were found. I'll let you know if we do. Is there anything else?"

"I'll let you know." Gibbs turned to leave.

"Agent Gibbs. I spoke to Captain McGee. He is going to call me back when they have made arrangements for Agent McGee's memorial service. I would like to be able to tell him we have a lead on his son's killer."

"You and me both, Leon." Gibbs left and after a few moments, Vance leaned back in his chair, let out a groan of frustration, and closed his eyes. There were days when he really hated this job…

XXX

It was near midnight when Gibbs sent the rest of his team home. So far they had found no connections between the other cases and McGee, and nothing had turned up on the facial recognition search, and Asher had proved unhelpful, as he had not seen enough of his assailant to match him to the picture from the prison. It looked like it was going to be a long, frustrating haul. He was about to leave, himself, when he noticed another agent approaching his desk.

"What can I do for you, Balboa?"

"Vance gave my team the Striker case, and, well, I didn't want to say anything to him before talking to you first."

"What is it?"

"It's just…the searches that Agent McGee did of the sergeant's financial records. They were…incomplete."

"Well, yeah, he didn't really get a chance to finish them."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, places he should have hit in the initial search, it's like he…missed them. It's almost like he skipped over them or something, and I know he doesn't…_didn't_ make mistakes like that."

Gibbs sighed. "Yeah, well, unfortunately that fits in with our case. Thanks for letting me know." Gibbs thought for a moment. "So what did you find in those missing records?"

"It looks like Striker was funneling money out of several sources into a hidden account. We haven't figured out where the account is yet, but…it's a possible reason for him disappearing." Balboa studied Gibbs expression. "Do you think this might have something to do with what happened to McGee?"

"I don't know. There are too many things that don't add up yet."

"I hear you. Look, I… I also wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for your loss. McGee was one of the good ones."

"Yeah, he was." _Too bad __**someone**__ didn't share that opinion…_

"I'm heading out. See you tomorrow, Gibbs." Balboa walked to the elevator and soon disappeared within.

Gibbs glanced over at McGee's desk, wondering just what it was that had distracted his agent, and why he couldn't have told his boss he needed his help in preventing his own death.

XXX

After another two days of work on the case, and still feeling like there were getting nowhere, Tony needed a break. He thought about going down to Abby's lab to see if she had had any luck with the facial recognition, but for some odd reason he found himself headed towards Autopsy. He hadn't been there since he had escorted Sarah, and he hadn't been able to stay long after she had seen for herself that Tim was there. Now he felt drawn to the place, even though he had no idea why.

He was even more surprised to find that Ziva was already there. She was leaning against the wall of morgue drawers, staring down at the occupant of the drawer she had opened. Tony paused, remembering a similar scene he had witnessed many years ago. He walked over and stood on the opposite side of the open drawer.

"Ziva?"

She looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were slightly red, but dry.

"Yes, Tony?"

"Are you OK?" He avoided looking down at the silent form between them.

"His memorial service will be on Sunday," she said softly, ignoring Tony's question. "Director Vance said McGee's family has asked one of us to speak."

"And you volunteered."

She nodded. "I am not sure what I should say."

"Just tell the truth, Ziva."

"The truth. The truth is that I never expected I would have to do this."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"But I will do it. It is the least I can do, yes?"

"Yeah…"

"No."

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"The least I can do is to find out who did this, and I…I think I may have found something, but…damn it. It would be so much easier if we had _his_ help."

"If we had his help, we wouldn't need to be doing this in the first place, Ziva."

"And then all of those people who had been killed, who would work on the case for them?"

Tony remained silent, and finally managed to look down at his former partner. "It's not much of a silver lining, huh, Probie?"

"No, it is not," replied Ziva, but Tony kept his focus on McGee.

"What did he know about all of this? And why didn't he say something?"

"I do not know, Tony, and I am worried that we may never know. It feels like—"

"We failed him?"

"Maybe."

Tony looked up and met her gaze. "You said you might have something?"

"It is…odd, but there may be something else that is connected."

"Show me."

"Alright." Ziva lifted the sheet covering McGee, started to re-cover his face, and then paused. "_Shalom_, my friend," she whispered, briefly touching his face, and then finished covering him before she slid the drawer back in place. After the door was closed, she turned to Tony. "Let's go."

Tony followed her across the room and out the door towards the elevators, sparing one last glance back before the doors slid shut.

XXX

Ziva sat down at her desk and pulled up her notes as Tony leaned over her shoulder and peered at the monitor.

"Since these killings are so odd, I decided to check and see if there were any more odd crimes in the same area around the same time. I have only been able to check the five most recent cases so far, but for each case, within a week or two prior to the shooting, there were clusters of crimes with unusual circumstances.

"Unusual, how?" asked Gibbs as he appeared behind them.

Ziva gave him a brief look before turning back to her computer. "People who had never before done anything illegal committed crimes: robbery, burglary, assault, even murder. They would disappear or escape from the scene and turn up at their own homes, dead of an apparent suicide."

"How many people?"

"There are three or four for each case. Again, no connections between any of the victims, including the ones we have been examining. No matter how many of these strange crimes there are, they all stop after the shootings."

"That's…seriously weird. What the hell is going on? Were there any cases like that around here?"

"No."

"Yes."

They both turned to look at Gibbs.

"Sergeant Striker, good marine, model citizen. He was embezzling. Balboa's team just confirmed it. And then he disappeared."

"But we have not found him, have we?"

"No."

"And that's only one case. Then why-?" Gibbs glared. "Your gut, got it." Tony fisted his hands in his hair and groaned. "I repeat, what the hell is going on here?"

"Whatever it is, I think it is a lot bigger than we first suspected. We seem to have opened a whole new can of…worms."

"I'm impressed. You actually got that one right." Tony ducked instinctively against the anticipated head slap and was not disappointed. "Thanks, Boss."

"So now what should we do?" asked Ziva.

"Go home."

They all turned to look up at Vance, who was standing on the stairs.

"Director?"

"It looks like you are going to be on this case over the long haul. You need to pace yourselves."

"I thought you wanted progress, Leon. Something to tell McGee's family."

Vance descended the stairs and stopped in front of Gibbs. "I'll handle it. Your team needs a break. We've already lost one agent, and-"

"They won't have a problem, Leon."

"I wasn't just talking about them, Gibbs."

"You think _I_ have a problem here, Leon?"

"I think this case is going to take time, and I think you need a break." He lowered his voice. "None of you have taken time to grieve, and you need it. Don't make me make it an order."

Gibbs stared at Vance in silence, barely controlling his anger, before finally giving a brief nod. Vance spoke again at his normal volume.

"Take three days off. I expected to see you all at the memorial service on Sunday." He lowered his voice again and spoke directly to Gibbs. "The funeral will be private, once we release the body. The McGees understand the delay, and hopefully it won't be too long, but I want to make sure this case sticks, Gibbs. Understood?"

"Yes, Director. You heard him. Pack it up." Tony and Ziva shot Gibbs twin confused looks, and when he didn't respond, they gathered their belongings and left. Gibbs lingered at his desk for a while longer, making sure everything was in order, and then headed out. It felt a bit like he had lost a battle, but he knew the war was just beginning.

XXX

Tony climbed out of his car and looked up at the building in front of him. He had never been to Abby's church before, and it wasn't quite what he expected. The large brick edifice, broken only by expanses of stained glass, was surprisingly normal, not the gothic showplace he had expected Abby to frequent.

"Coming, Tony?" she asked as she climbed out of the other side of the car and opened her parasol.

"Yeah. It was nice of you to suggest this place for the service, Abbs."

"It was the least I could do. The sisters really liked Tim, and…they were happy to help."

He glanced around, surprised at the large number of people now heading towards the building. "Looks like a good turnout."

"Yeah…"

"I'm surprised you didn't want to speak at the service. I thought…never mind."

"I didn't think I could do it. Not that I couldn't think of anything nice to say about Timmy, you know I could, but it would make it…"

"Real?" he offered.

"Yeah."

They proceeded into the church in silence and found seats near the front, on the far right side of the chapel. Tony sat with Abby at his left, and soon was joined by Gibbs, who sat on his right, and Ducky and Palmer, who sat on the other side of Abby. Since Ziva was speaking, she was in the front pew, along with Vance and several people Tony didn't recognize. He scanned the crowed and finally saw Sarah standing next to a blond woman wearing a black suit and a dark haired man in a Naval Officer's uniform, whom he guessed were McGee's parents. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized how little he had known about his partner.

Soon the service started and Tony listened as each person who had been asked to speak told stories about his friend. Some were humorous, but most were undercut with sadness, and as Tony realized the impact that Tim McGee had made on so many lives, and what all these people must be feeling, the emotions he had kept under wraps for nearly a week started to work their way to the surface. A suspicious wetness on his cheeks caused him, after he had made sure no one was watching, to swipe at his face with the back of his hand.

_DiNozzo men do not cry. DiNozzo men do not cry…_

Soon one emotion took over and it became more and more difficult to contain it. When it was Ziva's turn to speak, and he listened to her describe all the things Tim had done for her, from the time she started at NCIS until just two weeks ago, when he had helped her with a computer problem she'd been having with her home system, he was reminded of all the things Tim had done for _him_, what he had failed to do in return_,_ and he couldn't take it any more. He rose from his seat, pushed past Gibbs, and walked out of the church, ignoring the heads that turned in his wake.

When he was finally outside, he slumped against the front wall and bowed his head, trying to reign in the surge of emotion he was experiencing. Finally he stood, turned to the brick wall, and pulled back his fist.

"I wouldn't do that." He froze. Finally he was able to respond.

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's gonna hurt like Hell, trust me."

He managed a short bark of laughter. "You're standing next to a church. You're not supposed to say 'Hell'."

"No, probably not. I'm guessing you're Tony."

Tony turned and saw the dark haired man he had noticed earlier. "I'm guessing you're Captain McGee."

"James. Nice to finally meet you, Tony." He offered his hand and Tony shook it. "Wish it was under better circumstances, though."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

"You want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I, uh…"

"I know, you're the tough guy. You never admit it when something bothers you. Your friends can always tell, though. Right?"

Tony looked up and met James' gaze. "I guess Tim mentioned me."

"Oh, once or twice," he said, and smiled. In that moment he looked and sounded so much like Tim that Tony had to look away. "My boy always knew he could talk to me. I hope you know his friends can, too."

"Not sure Tim would have considered me his friend."

"Oh, he did, trust me. Maybe not at first, but eventually he did. So, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm…I'm angry."

"Yeah, I kind of got that. Do you want to tell me why?"

"Isn't it obvious? I mean, he was your _son_…aren't you-?"

"Pissed off? Of course I am. And I'm going to be for a long time, believe me. But with you it's different. There's a lot of guilt in there, too, isn't there?"

Tony looked away. "You talked to Gibbs, didn't you?"

"I didn't need to. I've seen it, more often than I like to remember. I am in the Navy, you know. We see battle. And I think you see it too, just different. You and Tim have been through wars together. You had each other's backs. Tim told me that no matter what, when it came down to brass tacks, he knew you would be there for him."

"And I wasn't."

"Bullshit."

Startled, Tony turned back to James. "What?"

"Tony, I know what happened. I know there was nothing you could have done, and I don't blame you for what happened. No one does. Except you."

"I-"

"And you still don't believe it. You may not for awhile. But, that's only part of why you're angry. Tell me the rest."

"I…I'm angry because of what you lost. What we all lost. I…I sat and there and I listened to all those things that Tim had done, how much he had meant to so many, and I'm angry that I lost another partner, that the violence just never seems to stop…and we're no closer to catching this bastard than we were three days ago. We failed him, James." He leaned back against the wall as the rage that had building started to drain way, leaving him exhausted.

"No, you haven't. Because you'll keep trying. You're on Gibbs' team. He never leaves a man behind, and he won't stop until justice is done. He expects the same of you, and you'd rather die yourself than let him down."

"How do you know all this?"

"I told you, my boy talked to me, and he was on Gibbs' team, too. If the roles were reversed, what would he do?"

"He wouldn't give up."

"And neither will you. Now, what do you say we go back inside and listen to some more nice stories about my son?" He smiled, but Tony could see the wetness in his eyes, and he barely managed not to let his own tears fall.

"Sounds like a plan."

James clapped him on the back and they headed inside. "Just don't tell my wife I cussed so much. She'll kick my ass."

"You think she'd be used to it, you being a sailor and all."

James chuckled. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

XXX

Gibbs saw Tony and James return and gave a soft sigh of relief. He had been ready to follow Tony, but the senior McGee had caught his attention and motioned for him stay, and he had returned his attention to the service. Their return caused barely a ripple, but he did notice that Tony looked a bit more settled. Gibbs hoped James had been able to talk some sense into him, where he, hampered by his own guilt, had failed.

After the service, when almost everyone else had left, Gibbs' team still lingered. The McGees thanked Ziva for her contribution and the others for attending, and as they were all finally leaving, Gibbs' caught Tony's arm.

"You OK?"

"Getting there."

"Good." He tilted his head toward Ziva, Abby, and Palmer. "You all need to stick together for awhile. None of you need to be alone tonight."

"What about you?"

"I'll manage."

"Boss…"

"Yeah, Tony?"

"We're going to catch this bastard." For the first time, it didn't sound like a question.

"Yeah, we will. Get some rest, and I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Got it, Boss."

Gibbs accepted hugs from Abby and Ziva, and smiled when the strains of New Orleans jazz flowed from the car as Abby and Tony drove off, followed by Ziva and Palmer. He turned to the remaining member of the team.

"Where ya headed, Duck?"

"Back to the office, I'm afraid. I have some paperwork that needs attention. You will call me…if you need anything?"

"I will."

"Goodbye, Jethro."

"See ya later, Duck."

He watched the older man drive off in his Morgan before returning to his own car. Gibbs drove out of the parking lot and, instead of heading for home, he started to drive downtown. Soon he was parked in front of Michael Asher' store and he sat, staring at the spot on the pavement where his agent had fallen. Finally he got out and walked over to place where he stood silently for several moments. He then looked up and over at the building across the street, where the killer had hidden. He watched and he listened, and he couldn't ignore what his gut was telling him, what it _had_ been telling him since the case began.

"Something isn't right…"

Finally, unable to reconcile his instincts with what he knew about the case, he got back in his car and headed home. Maybe Vance was right. He needed a break, but he sure as Hell wasn't going to stop. Not until it was over.

When Gibbs arrived at his house, he parked his car in front and made his way up the front steps. He stepped through his front door, started towards the kitchen, and froze. In the dim light he could just make out a figure seated on his back porch, its back to the sliding glass door. Silently he retrieved his weapon, went back out the front door, and crept around the side of the house to the back, where he was able to get a better view of the intruder. He could see that it was a man, hunched over, with his arms across his knees and his head pillowed on his arms, apparently asleep. Gibbs relaxed slightly. This man was too small to be the killer. The plaid shirt and worn jeans he was wearing hung on his thin frame, and his general disheveled appearance suggested a rough existence.

_Probably some homeless guy who got lost and wound up too far away from downtown._

Gibbs watched him for a minute and sighed. He'd wake him up, assess his status, and offer him a ride to the shelter.

"Hey! You can't stay here, buddy. Up and at 'em."

The man jerked awake, raised his head and turned to look at Gibbs with bleary eyes. Gibbs could only stare in shock at the impossibly familiar man in front of him.

It was Tim McGee.

* * *

You SPN fans know what's going on, right? ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

A/N: Sorry about the confusion. I wrote this chapter, posted it, and then decided I hated it (it didn't fit in with the style of the rest of the story, I guess). Here's the re-write. Flashbacks are in italics, separated from the present by "xxx" before and after.

* * *

_**It is impossible to experience one's death objectively and still carry a happy tune.**_

_**~ Woody Allen**_

Chapter 6

"_Hey! You can't stay here, buddy. Up and at 'em."_

_The man jerked awake, raised his head and turned to look at Gibbs with bleary eyes. Gibbs could only stare in shock at the impossibly familiar man in front of him._

_It was Tim McGee._

Gibbs had almost convinced himself that what he saw sitting on his back steps was a hallucination, or someone who just looked a _hell_ of a lot like his fallen agent, when the man spoke.

"Boss?"

It _sounded_ like Tim. The man, even with the scruffy growth of facial hair and the pale, unhealthy sheen to his skin, really _looked_ like Tim. Gibbs mind screamed in denial, but his gut was telling him something else entirely, as impossible as it seemed: it had to be…

"McGee?"

A look of relief crossed the man's face and he gave Gibbs a weak smile. "I…I'm really glad to see you, Boss." He tried to stand up but his legs started to shake and he quickly sat back down. He looked up at Gibbs with obvious embarrassment. "Sorry. Not at my best here." His eyebrows knitted together and he pursed his lips in obvious confusion when he noticed Gibbs' lack of response. "Boss? Are you OK?" His confusion quickly morphed into concern. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is everyone OK?"

Finally Gibbs paralysis broke and he took several steps forward until he was standing in front of the man. He crouched down and looked him in the eye. The illusion of familiarity wasn't broken.

"McGee? What…what are you doing here?"

"I…" The man briefly broke eye contact and looked down before meeting Gibbs' gaze again. "I really didn't know where else to go." He stared at Gibbs for a moment. "Boss, what's going on? I know I've been gone for awhile, but it wasn't my fault, I swear."

Gibbs reached out and grasped the man's shoulder. He was real: undeniably, impossibly _real_. Gibbs closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding before he looked McGee in the eye again.

"What happened, Tim? Where have you been?"

Tim hesitated. "It's…kind of a long story, Boss."

Suddenly Gibbs' instinctual wariness kicked into gear. He knew he needed to be sure of something, and there was only one way to do that.

"Hey McGee, do you remember the first time you came here to work on a case?"

The puzzled expression returned. "You mean when we were…uh, investigating the FBI?"

"Yeah, that. You asked me a question about what I was building in the basement. What did you ask me?"

"Uh…oh, the boat. I asked how you got it out of the basement."

"And what did I tell you?"

"You told me 'just break the bottle'. Boss, why did you want to know that?"

Gibbs felt a rush of relief. This really _was_ his agent. "Not important, Tim. Let's get you inside."

Gibbs was startled by how weak Tim seemed, but he figured he'd get the story once the younger man was more comfortable. They made their way around to the front of the house and up the front steps into the foyer. After settling Tim on the sofa in the living room, Gibbs stepped into the kitchen to get him a drink of water. Once out of sight, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Duck? I'm at my place. I need you here ASAP. No, I'm fine. Just…you'll see when you get here. Thanks." He snapped the phone shut and stuck it back in his pocket before moving to the sink to fill a glass with water. He headed back to the living room and stopped. Tim had fallen onto his side on the sofa and was curled in a near fetal position, obviously fast asleep. Gibbs retrieved a blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over the sleeping man, noting as he did so several things: Tim's fingers were bruised and scraped, and his fingernails were almost shredded, evidence of a desperate attempt to escape…something. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a week, and there was a faint odor of something very unpleasant clinging to him.

Gibbs sighed in frustration. What could have happened? How did his formerly _dead_ agent suddenly wind up on his back porch? Then there were the bigger questions: since he was certain that this was Tim McGee, just who was lying in a drawer in autopsy? And _why_?

He had been watching Tim sleep for almost fifteen minutes when he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Ducky's voice.

"Jethro, what's wrong? On the phone you sounded…" Gibbs looked up to see the M.E. standing just outside the living room, frozen in place, his gaze locked on the young man curled up on the sofa. He was absolutely speechless.

"Hey, Duck," Gibbs whispered. "Thanks for coming."

Finally Ducky recovered his voice. "What on Earth…?"

"Found him sitting on my back porch when I got home. He's in pretty rough shape, but…it's really him, Duck."

"How…how is this possible?"

"Was kinda hoping you could tell me."

Before Ducky could reply, both men heard a low groan and they turned towards the room's other occupant. Tim's eyelids slowly opened and as he looked up at them, his lips turned up in a weak smile.

"Hey, Ducky…"

"Timothy? How…?"

McGee slowly shifted into a sitting position. "Been better." He noticed Ducky's expression and frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He turned to Gibbs. "Boss? What's wrong?" He blinked several times. "Sorry, my head is still a little fuzzy, but if I didn't know better I'd say you are both…freaked…out?"

"It's OK, Tim. We're fine."

"You don't look fine. Please, tell me what's going on?"

Ducky sat down next to him and, after a brief hesitation, started to check him over. Tim sat quietly while Ducky conducted his examination, but his worried eyes were on Gibbs.

Finally Ducky sat back and took a deep breath. "He's appears to be suffering from moderate dehydration, fever, and probably a mild upper respiratory infection. The damage to his hands will require treatment, but otherwise…Timothy, what _happened_ to you?"

Gibbs gave Tim the glass of water he had brought earlier, which Tim accepted gratefully and took several small sips. Gibbs settled down in his chair to listen as the young man struggled to explain what had occurred.

"You remember the case…I guess it would be last weekend? We were on call and we caught it late Sunday evening."

"The missing Marine, Sergeant Striker." Striker's wife had reported her husband missing after the requisite 48 hours had passed and insisted that something had to have happened to him, as he would never be gone that long without checking in with someone. Gibbs and Tim had gone to speak to the woman, while Ziva and Tony had spoken to the man's CO. Neither pair had uncovered any evidence to support the woman's claim, but had promised that they would be looking into it. Since it had been so late after they finished the initial interviews, they knew they would not get anything else done that night and Gibbs had sent them home.

"I remember."

"After I got home, I wasn't ready to sleep, so I decided to go for a run…"

xxx

_Tim selected one of his three mile routes that would take him through the local park. At the last minute he decided to take his gun with him, so he tucked the holster into the back of his sweatpants and concealed the weapon under his jacket._

_Half way through his run, he stopped, unable to shake the feeling that he was being followed. He slowly and carefully looked around but the park appeared to be deserted. He started off again and had gone another quarter mile when saw that the lights which normally illuminated the path were out. He stopped, his senses on high alert, and barely heard the footsteps approaching. He spun around to find a man standing behind him, one who was surprisingly familiar: it was their missing Marine._

"_Sergeant Striker?" Tim asked worriedly. "What are you doing here?"_

_The man only glared, and before Tim could respond Striker lunged, knocking him to the ground. He rose to his knees and reached for his gun but Striker grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back as he pulled the agent back to his feet. Tim lashed out with his right hand, clawing at Striker's arm and felt the skin of the man's arm pull away under his grasp. He nearly gagged at the sensation and before he could regain his equilibrium, he felt Striker's arm around his neck. He barely had enough time to wonder why the sergeant was doing this before the world faded to black._

xxx

"Wait: his skin peeled off? Like a mask?"

"It didn't feel like that type of material, Boss. It felt like…real skin." He shuddered.

"He never said anything?"

"No. He just…looked really angry."

"What happened next?"

xxx

_When Tim awoke, he was lying in semi-darkness on a hard, cold, slightly damp surface. He took a deep breath and sniffed the air, barely detecting the all too familiar scent of decomposition. He tried not to think of what accompanied that smell and staggered to his feet, registering that not only was he barefoot, but was also only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt._

_**Where am I? What…? Striker. What does he want with me?**_

_As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see that he was in what looked like an old-fashioned jail cell within a larger room. He could see the faint outline of a blanket covered-cot and moved towards it. Next to the cot was a gallon-sized plastic water jug, and on the other side of the cell was a rusted bucket. Tim grimaced. He had a pretty good idea what __**that**__ was for._

_He took another look around and saw that the cell was centered on a concrete slab in the middle of a stone-lined basement. The only light in the room came from a small window on the wall near a decaying staircase. The rest of the room appeared to be empty, except for a couple of piles of what might have been clothing and a slumped form in the far corner._

"_Hello?" Tim called out and waited to see if the form would move. It didn't. He tried again, as loud as he could, but his sore throat didn't allow for much beyond a soft croak. "Why am I here? What do you want?"_

_He waited for any type of response and when he received none, he started to look for a way out. He tested the bars of his cage, but they were solid, and the cell was bolted to the floor by a set of metal bands. He reached up and felt the ceiling, and was surprised to find it was solid metal. He tested the door and eventually determined that he would not be able to break it. He had nothing to use to pick the lock, unless… He lifted the mattress on the cot and discovered that the bed had a wooden frame and slats, not metal as he had first expected._

_Finally, unable to find any means of escaping his prison, he walked back over to the cot and sank down onto it. The blanket was rough against his bare legs and soon he noticed that the thin mattress smelled awful. He briefly considered returning to the floor before deciding that the dampness would be worse. He crawled under the blanket and curled up on his side, trying to ward of the chill as he evaluated his situation. The team would realize he was missing, and it was possible they would make the connection to Striker, although it didn't seem too likely. He just had to hope that there was some evidence of his abduction and that they would be able to trace it to this location. _

_He reached down and found the water jug, untwisted the cap and sniffed the jug's contents. He couldn't detect anything wrong and took a cautious sip. It was a little stale, but otherwise drinkable, and the liquid helped to soothe his abused throat. He reminded himself not to drink too much at once, since he had no idea when Striker, or whoever it was that was keeping him captive would return with more._

_He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up under his chin. He really hoped his team would find him, and soon…_

xxx

"He gave you no food, only water?" asked Ducky, anger and worry clear in his expression.

"Just the one jug of water. I tried to make it last, but…it ran out a couple of days ago. Nobody came back to check on me."

"Dear Lord…" Ducky rose and headed for the kitchen.

"How did you escape?" asked Gibbs.

"I didn't. I mean, someone found me and got me out of there."

"When?"

"This morning..."

xxx

_Tim was awakened by a creak of metal. He kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep so as to figure out what was in store and prepare himself as best he could. He heard footsteps approaching and soon had the sense that someone was leaning over him. Heart pounding, he waited for whatever painful thing would happen next. Then, for the first time in a week he heard a voice other than his own._

"_Hey. You awake?"_

_He managed to crack open one lid and found himself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes. His heart quickened as he felt a wave of relief wash over him._

"_Boss?"_

_He heard a soft chuckle. "'fraid not." _

_Tim opened his other eye and flinched. The large man leaning over him was definitely __**not**__ Gibbs. _

"_Who…?"_

"_Call me Wade." He put his had to Tim's forehead and frowned. "You're in bad shape, kid. Do you know how you wound up here?"_

"_Not…really."_

_Wade looked around the cell and his eyes came to rest on the empty jug. "How long have you been out of water?"_

"_T…two days. I think."_

"_Lucky I found you when I did, then. Here." He pulled a flask from his jacket, unscrewed the lid, and offered it to Tim. "Don't worry, it's only water. All I have with me."_

_Tim tried to reach for the flask but he couldn't manage to lift his arm enough to grasp it. Wade helped him raise his head and held the flask to his lips so he could drink. He gulped the cool liquid and sighed with pleasure. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter, and he gave a moan of protest when the container was pulled away._

"_Not too fast, kid. You'll make yourself sick."_

"_Tim. My name is Tim."_

"_OK, Tim." Wade held the flask to his mouth again so he could take a few more swallows. "Do you think you can sit up by yourself?"_

_Tim gingerly pulled the blanket down and tried to sit up but it was much harder than he expected. He felt a gentle pressure at his back and saw that Wade had his arm against his back, supporting him._

"_T-thanks."_

"_No problem."_

"_How…how did you find me?"_

_Wade chuckled. "Kind of a long story. I sure wasn't expecting to find a li…anyone down here. How long have you been here?"_

"_About a week, I think." Tim winced at the memory. "He just dumped me down here…to die."_

"_Who did?"_

"_A…Marine sergeant. He was supposed to be missing…but he was…hiding, I guess. I don't know why he took me. I thought my boss would find me, but…"_

"_You're lucky __**I**__ found you. This place is really out in the middle of nowhere…Anyway, you ready to blow this joint?"_

"_Oh God, yes."_

_Wade chuckled. "I don't blame you. It's pretty rank down here." There was something in Wade's tone that twinged Tim's inner alarms, but he was in no shape to figure out why. "Come on." Wade held out his hand to Tim and the younger man tried to pull himself up off the cot, but with a groan of frustration he realized he couldn't make it._

"_Sorry…give me just a minute."_

"_Don't worry about it. Here, I got ya." _

_Tim barely had time to register what was happening as Wade draped one of Tim's arms over his shoulder and slid his own arm under Tim's legs, lifting him as easily as one would lift a small child. Tim felt a flush of embarrassment as the older man carried him out of the cell and up the stairs, but he let out a sigh of relief when they made it outside._

_When he looked over Wade's shoulder, Tim could see the remains of an old house above the cellar that has been his prison. He briefly wondered why Wade had chosen to look into such a place before a gust of wind hit his bare legs and he shivered, almost wishing for the threadbare blanket back in the cell._

_Wade carried him over to a large black pickup truck, opened one of the doors and set Tim on the seat. He reached across Tim to the center console and pulled out a bottle of water which he opened and handed to the younger man._

"_Remember, just a little bit at a time." Tim nodded, shakily raised the bottle to his mouth and took a sip, sighing in relief as the water soothed his parched throat._

"_Thanks." _

xxx

"Wade had a camp nearby, so he took me there, gave me these clothes to wear, and gave me a chance to get cleaned up a little. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but…"

"As well he should have, Timothy. What were you thinking?" asked Ducky, returning from the kitchen empty-handed.

"I…I _really_ hate hospitals, Ducky. Plus I figured, with no ID, it would be a big hassle, and…well, at least Gibbs would be able to vouch for me if I came here first. I figured the faster I talked to Gibbs, the better."

Gibbs wanted to head slap the man, but for once he didn't have the heart to do it. Suddenly he understood what Tim was not saying.

"You thought something happened to us, and you wanted to check. Because we didn't find you." Tim nodded, obviously embarrassed. "Damn."

"I figured…well, I know you had to be looking for me, but…forget it." He looked up and saw Gibbs' expression. "Boss?"

"We weren't looking for you, Tim, because we thought you were dead."

Tim's eyes widened. "_What?_ Why?"

"Let's just say the evidence was very convincing," said Ducky. He shot Gibbs a look and he nodded in understanding. "Jethro, there is nothing suitable here to give someone in Timothy's condition to eat or drink. Plain water is not going to help as much as he needs. I see I will need to go to the store. Is there anything else you need, Timothy?"

"At this point, just a shower, a shave, and a strong cup of coffee," Tim replied. "I guess I should go home."

"Going home would be inadvisable, as would the coffee. As for the rest…"

"I got it, Duck. Come on, Tim, let's get you upstairs."

"You really don't…thanks, Boss."

"No problem, Tim. Just glad to have you back."

After helping Tim upstairs and getting him set up in the bathroom, Gibbs returned to the first floor to talk to Ducky.

"What are we going to tell him, Duck?"

"I suggest we wait until he's stronger, but we must tell him the truth, Jethro, no matter how impossible this all seems. Now, I must go get some provisions. Please keep an eye on him, Jethro. He is not at all well."

"Will do, Duck."

Twenty minutes later, Gibbs heard a soft thump coming from the top of the stairs. He went to check and found Tim about a third of the way from the top, leaning hard on the railing. His hair was still damp, the scruffy beginnings of a beard was gone, and he looked much more like his old self, albeit completely exhausted.

"You OK?" Gibbs asked as he hurried to help the younger man. Tim looked rather embarrassed at the attention.

"I'm getting there. Sorry about this, Boss."

"Don't apologize, McGee." Tim chuckled. "What?"

"Wade told me that, too. He kind of reminded me of you, Boss. I guess…I guess that's why I trusted him."

"Tell me about him so we can find him. I'd like to be able to thank the man myself."

"I don't even know if Wade was his first or last name…or even his real name. He didn't talk too much about himself, except…well, I mentioned your rules and he said he had a rule, but…it was kind of weird."

"What was it?"

"'There are a lot of good reasons to be afraid of the dark.'"

Startled, Gibbs turned to look at the younger man. "Did he say why he had that rule?"

"No. I asked, and he never answered."

"Huh. Anything else you can tell me?"

"No…well, just that I don't think I'd ever want to be against him in a fight. He was a big guy, and he was pretty rough-looking."

Suddenly, it clicked. "Tim, tell me exactly what he looked like."

"Well, uh…I guess about 6'4", probably 220, 230 lbs, but all muscle. Late 50's or early 60's. Blue eyes, long black and silver hair, and he wore it in a ponytail. Boss, what's wrong?"

Gibbs stared at Tim in shock before shaking his head. _I still don't believe in coincidences. What the hell is going on here?_

"Nothing, Tim."

"Boss…forgive me for saying this, but you've been acting really weird. What aren't you telling me?"

Gibbs was saved from explaining by Ducky's arrival. The older man started bustling about the kitchen, preparing food and drink for Tim, which thankfully distracted the agent, at least for the moment. Ducky took time to treat and bandage Tim's hands while the soup he had purchased was cooking. After Ducky had finished and Tim was eating the bland meal, Gibbs pulled the older man aside and they moved to the living room.

"We need to tell him, Duck. Now."

"Tell me what?" They turned to see Tim leaning against the door to the kitchen with a worried look on his face.

"Timothy…"

"Tell me what, Ducky? What is so bad that even Gibbs has been keeping it from me?" He turned his attention to the lead agent. "Did something happen to one of the team? Are they…?"

"Tim…nothing happened to them. Not physically, at least."

"So…what? They're upset because they thought I was dead? We've had that happen before, Boss. We deal with it. Why is this time any different? I mean, they just thought it, right?"

"No, Timothy, they didn't just think it."

Tim stared at him in obvious shock as he absorbed that bit of information. "Just how convincing was the evidence, Boss?"

Gibbs sighed. "You better sit down, McGee."

XXX

Tim could only stare at the two men after they finished their story. Since he knew that they would never do something like this, then…

"It's not a joke?"

"No."

"So there really is some guy who looks _exactly_ like me down in autopsy, and he was shot by a sniper and killed with a…_silver bullet_?"

"Yes."

Tim was silent for several moments. "And I'm not dreaming? I mean, I'm not back in that cellar and this is all some…hallucination?"

"No, Tim."

"But then…oh, God." He put his head in his hands and tried to push the terrible thoughts from his mind, but he couldn't. "My parents, my sister, they all…?"

"I'm afraid so. We went to your memorial service today, Timothy." Ducky gave him a sympathetic smile. "It was quite lovely."

"I didn't…really want to know that, Ducky." Suddenly he blushed with embarrassment when he realized something. "That means you did the…my…autopsy?"

"Yes, lad, and before you ask, Mr. Palmer assisted."

Tim blushed even deeper. "This is not happening…"

"Tim…"

He looked up at his boss. "Do you have any idea _why?_"

"Working on that, and hoping you can help."

"H-how?"

Gibbs told him the rest, about the other cases and the picture to which Tim's double had reacted. Tim shook his head.

"I've never even heard of these people, Boss. I swear."

"I believe you, Tim. Looks like we still have a mystery to solve."

"But-?"

"We'll figure it out, Timothy. Now, let me warm up this soup for you, I'm sure it's cold by now."

"I'm not…really hungry, Ducky."

"No, but you must eat so you can get your strength back. If we are to solve this, we'll need your help."

Tim sighed and leaned back to wait for the rest of his meal. His stomach was unsettled, but he figured it was more due to what he had learned than anything else. He also suspected his troubles were just beginning…

XXX

The sun was not even up when Tim managed to stumble down the stairs. He made it to the kitchen only to find that Gibbs was already up and dressed, and the smell of coffee was just starting to emerge from the percolator on the stove. Tim gazed at it longingly and sighed. Gibbs turned to look at him and shook his head with a slight smirk on his face.

"Sorry, Tim. Doctor's orders." He opened the refrigerator and handed Tim a bottle of juice instead.

Tim sat down at the table and opened it. It tasted better than he expected, but he missed the bitter taste of his morning brew.

"Sleep well?"

"Not really…guess that's to be expected, huh?"

"Yeah, probably." Gibbs checked his watch. "I'm going to give Tony a call in about an hour. You think you'll be up to a visit?"

Tim knew that Gibbs hadn't told the rest of the team yet. He didn't think it was something they should hear over the phone. Truth be told Tim wasn't sure he was ready to face them, but why delay the inevitable?

"Yeah, I guess." He managed a wry chuckle. "Tony will probably make some sort of movie reference, Ziva will tell me that she is happy I am not dead, and Abby will yell at me for worrying her." He winced and looked up at his boss. "What was that for?"

"Tim…how would you feel if you knew one of your team was dead? If you saw them killed, or saw their body, and there was no question it was them?"

Tim winced at the implied reprimand. "I…I don't know, Boss. I haven't really wanted to think about it."

"Well they had to, and they…didn't handle it very well."

Tim's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I…I didn't expect that, Boss. They all seem to deal with this stuff much better than I do…well, except Abby, but…"

"This time was different. Tony was there when your…double was killed, Ziva had to process the scene, Abby saw you…well, _the_ body, and…"

"Ducky and Palmer…did what they do."

"It was a shock, Tim. Sometimes we forget that at any time, it could be one of us…and this time it was you."

"But it wasn't, I mean, not really." He was silent for a couple of minutes and sighed. "I still can't believe there was someone out there who could completely pass as me. It's…hinky."

Gibbs chuckled. "That it is."

XXX

Tony jerked awake and groaned. He had fallen asleep in his recliner, but had managed to do so in a less-than-comfortable position. He sat up, rubbed his neck, and grinned when he caught sight of the trio on the couch. Jimmy was in the center of the group, his head leaned back against the headrest, glasses askew, mouth open, and a thin line of drool tracking down one cheek. Ziva was lying across his chest, arms akimbo, and surprisingly _not_ snoring. Abby had her head resting on Jimmy's thigh and one fist curled under her chin, almost as if she were sucking her thumb.

Tony carefully pulled his cell phone from his pocket and snapped a picture.

_I gotta send this to McGee_, he thought. _He'll really…_ Suddenly the memories flooded back into his consciousness and his grin disappeared. McGee would never see this picture, or anything else, ever again.

Tony moved to put the phone back in his pocket and it started to vibrate. He rose from his chair and checked the number as he padded softly towards the kitchen. When he saw who was calling he immediately answered.

"Yeah, Boss?" he said, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb his guests. "What? OK, I'll be there. Yeah, they're still here. OK, I'll tell them." He snapped the phone shut and returned to the living room to find Ziva already awake.

"What is it?"

"Gibbs says he has some new information about the case. He wants us at his place in an hour. All of us."

"Did he say what he had discovered?"

"No."

"Very well." She reached over and gently smacked Palmer on the arm. The autopsy gremlin sat up with a yelp, almost sending Abby to the floor in the process.

"What?" they asked in unison once they had recovered.

"Boss's place, one hour. Let's get moving."

XXX

Tim leaned against the kitchen counter, too tired to pace, but still trying to find some way of calming his nerves. He picked at the bandages on his hands until Ducky came in and gave him a reproachful look, which prompted him to stop.

"What's wrong, lad?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know, really. I mean, I'll be glad to see everyone, but this is going to be _majorly_ weird."

"Yes, I imagine it will."

Suddenly the heard the front door open and the voices of his teammates as they were greeted by Gibbs.

"_Come to the kitchen. I have something to show you."_

"_What is it, Boss? What did you…"_

The group came into view and they all froze when they caught sight of Tim, identical expressions of shock on their faces. Briefly Tim wished he had a camera and pushed the thought down.

"Hey, guys," he said, rather sheepishly. All four turned as one too look at Gibbs, who smirked.

"Yeah, it's really him."

Suddenly Tim found himself encased in a crushing bear hug, and was completely surprised that it _wasn't_ Abby.

"Tony…can't breathe."

Tony released him and stepped back to stare at the younger man. "How…?"

"Kind of a long story."

Ziva stepped forward and placed both hands on either side of his face as she stared intently at him. "McGee…I am very happy to see you…alive."

"Thanks, Ziva. I'm glad to see you, too."

She pulled his face down and kissed his forehead before releasing him. "But I do not understand…"

"I think it's going to take awhile to figure this one out, Ziva." He turned to Abby, surprised that she hadn't said anything yet. "Abby? You OK?"

She walked up to him, gently put her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. "If I'm dreaming, I don't want to wake up," she whispered.

"Not a dream, Abbs. I promise." He felt her arms tighten and he put his own around her. "It's OK." He looked up and acknowledged the last member of the group. "Hey, Jimmy."

"McGee…" He saw the younger man blush and stare at the floor. "I'm…I'm really glad you're not…you know."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks. And I'm sorry you…um…"

"Awkward," whispered Tony and winced. "Thanks, Boss."

"What happened?" Jimmy managed to ask. "I mean, we all saw you, and…"

"It wasn't me…uh, obviously. Who it was, exactly, we're still trying to figure that out. It looks like it's going to be an interesting week."

"I'll say. But where were _you_?" asked Tony. He looked at McGee's bandaged hands. "Not on vacation, I'm guessing."

"Not hardly." He explained where he had spent the past week and how he had gotten there. As he described his experience, Abby hugged him tighter and the rest of the team stared at him in shock.

"So it was Striker all along? But where does your evil twin fit in?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Tony."

"And what about the rest of the cases?" asked Ziva.

"Looks like we're going to have to figure that out, Ziva," said Gibbs. Tony turned to Tim with a worried expression.

"Are you up to this, Probie?"

Tim considered for a moment and smiled. "Yeah…yeah, I am."

"Count me in," said Jimmy.

"And I as well," said Ziva. "All of those people deserve justice."

"I know one thing for certain," said Tony as he looked at the assembled group with a grin on his face. "This _definitely_ takes the prize for 'strangest case ever'." He turned to the team lead, and after a pause, Gibbs smirked.

"Ya think, DiNozzo?"

TBC…

* * *

One more chapter to go. Wade will be making one more appearance ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Stranger Than Fiction

Written for the Death Fic Challenge

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

* * *

_**After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.**_

_**~J.K. Rowling**_

Chapter 7

It had been one _seriously_ weird week.

After his reunion with his team, all of whom had been reluctant to let him out of their sight, Tim had been faced with telling his immediate family that he was alive. Although Gibbs had been there to lend support, in his own way, the first meeting with his parents and sister had been the most emotionally draining experience of his life. While somewhat prepared for his mother and sister, and the sudden flood of tears when they finally laid eyes on him, he had never expected his father's reaction. The look on Navy captain's face when he saw his son was one Tim would never forget, and hoped he would never see again. The anger at what had happened to Tim was almost a relief to see: at least the man no longer seemed broken.

His family had wanted to take him home with them, but he knew he couldn't leave. There was still the mystery of what had actually transpired, and the unfortunate possibility that he might still be in danger. He didn't want to take that chance with them, and said so. After assurances that he would let them know what was going on as soon as he could and that he would come home with them after it was safe, they left him in Gibbs' custody.

His arrival at NCIS caused quite a stir, and when Vance had exited his office to see what was going on, Tim again wished for a camera: the expression on the Director's face was a sight to behold. He had escorted Gibbs and Tim down to Autopsy, where they were soon joined by Ducky and Palmer, and demanded an explanation.

That's when things started to get _really_ weird.

Tim had been both curious and apprehensive about seeing his doppelganger, but when Vance had opened the drawer containing the body, they all received a nasty shock. The corpse was unrecognizable and looked as if it had started to melt. A quick check of the other drawers demonstrated that it was only that body that had been affected.

After checking the security logs and footage and determining that no one could have entered autopsy to either damage or exchange the body, Vance had called in another team to investigate and brought Gibbs' entire team into his office.

Tim had repeated his story, backed up by the rest of the team, and that had started a cascade of events that kept them occupied for the next few days. Tim was subjected to medical and psychiatric exams as well as multiple polygraphs reviewed by experts from both the FBI and CIA. Those agencies in turn were grilled on the explanation for the man who had taken McGee's place, but neither knew of any projects or Ops which would produce such an individual. The NSA was also consulted, but had nothing to offer as far as explanations for the presence or possibility of McGee's double. It remained the most frustrating mystery of Vance's career to date, a fact of which he reminded Gibbs and the rest of the team on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, the tests from the body proved to be even more confusing. DNA results from the body revealed not one profile, but a complete mixture of all the alleles possible for every marker. The analyst that had been called in to perform the analysis initially suspected contamination with one of the DNA typing standards, but further testing yielded the same results, as did the original samples taken during autopsy: the body contained multiple genomes. Tim, on the other hand, had only one, which matched the profile in his records. His fingerprints also matched the ones in his file.

Tests for chemicals that might have caused the rapid decomposition of the body were all negative, although the composition of the tissue itself was normal for the state is was in. The process, as odd as it seemed, appeared to be natural, although highly accelerated.

Two days after Tim's 'resurrection', Gibbs found a note taped to his front door, consisting of two series of numbers, one followed by an N and the other followed by a W. Abby had checked the numbers and determined that they were coordinates for a rather remote location in southern Virginia. Vance finally agreed to send a team to the site, and what they found shocked the doubters of McGee's story. The site contained the ruins of an old house, and in the cellar they found the cage, exactly as Tim had described it.

They also found a body in an advanced stage of decomposition, as well as some piles of what looked like human skin, also badly decomposed. DNA testing was unsuccessful.

An updated BOLO was issued for Sergeant Striker, to include the charges of assault and kidnapping a federal agent. That bulletin was rescinded a few days later when the body in the cellar was identified by dental records as the missing Marine. The time of death was estimated to be a few days before McGee's disappearance.

"_One double I can deal with, maybe, but two? McGee has to be mistaken."_

That statement by the Director had set off another round of tests, but in the end it was decided that all involved had been telling the truth, or at least thoroughly believed that they had been, and they were finally cleared for work. In order to 'protect the integrity of the agency', an official statement was issued to cover up what had really happened, and McGee was assigned to desk duty only for at least a week after he refused leave time. He had decided that working would keep his mind off what had happened in that cellar.

He used his time on desk duty to go over the cold cases that the team had been working on for the FBI. He hoped, somehow, they might leave some sort of clue as to what had really happened.

He also obtained all of the security videos from the bullpen for Monday and Tuesday of the previous week. He watched, with morbid fascination, footage of the man who had taken his place until his death by a sniper's bullet. During one of these sessions he caught something, but it was just too bizarre to share with anyone. He mentally filed it away for later and tried to convince himself it had just been a trick of the light, but he knew he would be checking that video very carefully when his head was clearer.

He was still staying at Gibbs' place. The thought of being in his own apartment that had been inhabited by that…person, it made his stomach churn. He decided to start looking for a new place, and soon. He suspected Gibbs' hospitality would reach its limit in the near future if it hadn't already, but the team leader gave no indication that he was no longer welcome.

A week after he had been rescued, Tim was sitting in Gibbs' basement, his laptop set on one of the benches and the case files spread around him. He was not alone. In addition to Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Abby and Ducky were all present, helping to review those same files, along with any scraps of information the other agencies had deigned to give them regarding Tim's case. They had found nothing useful.

Finally Tim let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't understand it. There is no logical explanation for any of this. It just doesn't make sense!"

"And that would be at least one of the reasons why 'truth is stranger than fiction'."

Instantly four SIGs were trained on the intruder crouched at the top of the basement steps. Tim was the first to lower his weapon when he caught sight of the man's face.

"_Wade?_ What…what are you doing here?"

"Hey, Tim," he said with a slight grin. "You're sure looking a lot better than the last time I saw you." He turned to Gibbs. "You really should start locking your door. You never know what might walk in."

"I'm seriously considering it."

Wade smirked and looked at the other two team member who still had their guns trained on him. "You mind putting those away? They're making me a might bit jumpy."

Tony and Ziva glanced at Gibbs and he nodded. Once all of the agents had holstered their weapons, Wade descended the stairs to the basement and stopped to survey the group.

"So you're the one who saved my agent…I guess we all owe you a 'thank you'," said Gibbs, but his expression belied the congenial nature of his words.

"And I suspect you have some questions for me."

"We do."

"Figured as much." He turned to Tim. "How are you holding up, kid?"

"I'm OK."

"Glad to hear it. I was damn happy to find you alive, you know. I haven't always been that lucky."

"What do you mean?" asked Abby.

"A lot times it takes to long to find them. They're too well hidden. As I said, I got lucky."

"Find _whom_?" asked Ducky.

"The ones who have been replaced."

"Wait a minute. This whole thing with the double, it's happened before?" Tony's eyes were wide with shock.

"Unfortunately, yes, and most of the time no one realizes it. That is until someone ends up dead."

"You were the sniper," said Gibbs. "And you took out Tim's 'replacement'."

"Yep. I'd usually handle it differently, but I didn't have as much time to plan as I like."

"Who do you work for?" asked Tony coldly. "CIA, NSA…KGB?"

Wade chuckled. "I'm what you might call self-employed. Of course, I don't usually get paid."

"Wait," interrupted Tim. "You're some sort of free-lance assassin?"

"I prefer to think of it as pest control," replied Wade, and the expression that flashed across his face made them all want to take a step back.

"_Pest_ control? You kill people!" Tim sputtered as he felt a surge of anger. "No matter what they did, that doesn't change the fact that-"

"They're not human. And I mean that literally."

"What are they, then?" asked Ziva.

"Shapeshifters."

"What?" Tony stared at the man with something akin to disgust. "You're crazy!"

"Crazy is relative, trust me on this one. You deal with facts and evidence, so look at what you have, and then tell me if there's any _human_ explanation for what happened."

"I…"

"Let me make some educated guesses here: one – you worked with a man for over a day who was an exact duplicate of your partner, including his knowledge and memories, but his personality was just a little bit off, almost too little to notice; two – this man, after being dead a week, his body basically melted." He looked around at their shocked expressions and continued. "Three – nothing was found to indicate why that happened, no chemicals or high temperature to cause the decay; four – the DNA results you got from the body showed a mix of a whole bunch of people instead on just one; five – no one has any idea who or what this guy was…should I continue?"

"How the hell do you know all this?" growled Gibbs.

"I didn't hack your agency computers. I wouldn't even know how. I know this because I know what these things are, and I know what kind of evidence you would be looking for. I've done my homework. There's nothing about any of your evidence that makes sense, except what I'm telling you." He turned to Tim. "And there's one other thing I can tell you, to show you that these things aren't human."

"What's that?"

"Do you have video of the man that posed as you?" Tim felt the blood drain from his face. "You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"I…"

"What's he talking about, McGee?"

Tim went back to his laptop and inserted the DVD of the bullpen footage. "I thought it was just a trick of the light, or something…wrong with the system, but…" He pulled up the footage and showed it to them, frame by frame. They watched as the 'other Tim' sat working at the computer, and then, when he looked up towards the camera for just a second…

"What in the hell?" Tony yelped, his eyes practically glued to the screen. The eyes of the man on the video were solid white.

"Odd little side effect," said Wade. "And a sure sign of a Shifter. It's usually how I can ID them, and how I knew your double wasn't human."

"So you've been stalking it?" Gibbs asked and Wade nodded. "Since when?"

"This particular Shifter, I've been tracking for about a year. It killed a woman, five years ago."

"Karen Kieley."

"Very good. It posed as her husband, and I guess she caught it doing something she shouldn't have seen. It killed her and then framed the husband for her murder. The poor man died in jail, completely innocent. I went back through the records, figured out its pattern, then I finally found it and decided to give it a reminder of its past sins before I gave it a little taste of silver."

"Why silver?" Abby asked the man, her curiosity finally replacing her fear.

"It's the only thing that will permanently kill a Shifter. Anything else and it will just shed its skin and regenerate."

"It sheds its skin?" Tim remembered what had happened when he was fighting Striker and felt the bile rise in his throat.

"Yep, it's how they take on someone's appearance. Now, if it's killed, it keeps the shape of the last person it was for a week before the body breaks down. Most times the bodies aren't kept around for a week, though, so it goes unnoticed."

"What about all these other people? Were they…?"

"Looks like it. I should tell you that none of these were my kills. I'm not that sloppy." He shook his head. "Amateurs…anyway, I usually get rid of the evidence, and then I try to find whoever it is they replaced. Sometimes I find them, sometimes not, and sometimes I'm too late. If that's the case, I make sure the bodies are found so at least the families have closure."

"How humanitarian of you," snapped Ducky.

Wade glanced at the older man and sighed. "It's a job. Someone has to do it."

"Why was it keeping Tim alive? And how was Striker involved?"

"Shifters need the person that they copy to be alive so they can connect to them in order to have their knowledge and memories. My guess is that Striker died before the Shifter had completed its goal and it needed a quick replacement."

"So why me?"

"It probably thought you could get to what it wanted. Most of the time these things are after money, either just to have it or to fund the next job. Sometimes they do it because they like to kill. They are violent, vicious bastards. They pick someone, steal their life, steal their money or use them to steal from someone else, and then kill them and frame them for whatever crimes it committed. If I want to track one, I follow that pattern."

"How many of these things are there?"

"Too many."

"So they're the reason to be afraid of the dark?" asked Tim as he recalled Wade's 'rule'.

"One of them."

"What else is out there?" asked Tony, paling at the thought.

"Trust me, you really don't want to know."

"Why tell us?" asked Ziva. "Why not leave it as a mystery?"

"A few reasons: one, I figured Tim here at least deserved to know what really happened, if for no other reason than to see he wasn't crazy; and two - you all are investigators, some damn good ones from what I've heard, and I doubted that you would leave it alone. Personally I didn't want the attention, so I figured I'd come clean and hope you'd see reason."

"Reason?"

"Yeah. You go poking at this, and not only will you make my very necessary job difficult, the Shifters themselves could decide to go after you. You _really_ don't want that to happen."

"Sounds like personal experience," Gibbs remarked, and Wade just stared at him for a moment before dropping his eyes.

"Yeah, well, people don't take this job for fun."

"OK. What's the third reason?" asked Gibbs.

"What makes you think there's a third?"

"There's always a third," the three other agents chorused. Wade chuckled and shook his head.

"Yeah, OK. I figured I needed someone on the inside. Of law enforcement, and you were already in the middle of this."

"You want us to look the other way?"

"No, I need you to keep an eye out for the signs, and to let me handle it."

Gibbs studied the man in front of him and the others turned to their boss, waiting for his decision.

"Not making any promises, Wade," he finally said.

"I can accept that."

"So what do we do? About all of these cold cases?" Tim hated the fact that all of these families had gone through what his own had experienced.

Wade sighed. "I wish I could tell you. Maybe take comfort in the fact that the real victims were avenged." He glanced around at the group and gave them a half-smile. "Well, it's getting late. I better get going." He handed Tim a slip of paper." If you need to reach me, leave a message at that number. Don't bother tracing it, you won't be able to." He patted the younger man's arm. "Take care of yourself, Tim."

"I'll try. Wade?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks…for finding me in time."

"You're welcome, kid."

"Yes, thank you for bringing our friend back to us," said Ziva and gave the man a genuine smile, the first she had used in nearly a week.

"Thanks, man," said Tony. "And no offense, but I really hope we never see you again."

Wade laughed. "I hope you never need to." He turned to Gibbs. "Thank you, Agent Gibbs. I owe you one."

"I think we're even, at least for now."

"Sounds good to me." He turned and walked back up the stairs. Soon they heard the front door open, and a voice called "_Lock this damn thing, will ya?"_ before they heard the door shut again.

Abby was the first to speak.

"That was…really, _really_ hinky."

"Looks like hinky is the new norm…Thanks, Boss."

Tim looked at each of his team before turning to Gibbs. "Boss, are we really going to accept this? This whole crazy explanation? I mean…"

"I believe Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said it best, through his most famous character: 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth?'"

"In other words, 'the truth is out there', Probie," Tony grinned. "Although…" He grimaced. "It kinda sucks."

"So what do we do now?"

"We do our jobs, Ziva, like we always do. Just…a little more aware."

"I can do that."

"Me, too."

"Will do, Bossman."

"It will prove to be quite intriguing, of that I am sure."

The last member of the group remained silent.

"McGee? You with us?"

"I…yes, Boss."

By mutual silent consent, the rest of the team gathered up the case files and put them away for the night and as they headed out, they were much more cautious of their surroundings then they had ever been before. After they had left, Gibbs returned to the basement to find Tim staring at his laptop, the image of his white-eyed double displayed on the screen.

"What is it, McGee?"

"I…I never expected anything like this to happen to me…to us. It…really just _doesn't_ make sense, Boss, but…I guess I have to accept that."

"A lot of times, Tim, things don't. We deal with it and move on."

"Yeah…I know."

Gibbs gave Tim's shoulder a brief squeeze before heading back up the stairs. "Goodnight, Tim."

"'Night, Boss."

He looked back at the screen, at that impossible image, and sighed. They knew the truth now, and that was supposed to be better, right?

Finally he shut down his laptop and climbed the stairs to the living room, where he stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. As he started to drift towards sleep, he remembered Wade's words.

"…_truth is stranger than fiction…"_

Given a choice, Tim definitely knew which one he preferred.

THE END

* * *

A/N: Ducky quotes _The Sign of Four_

_And so ends my longest completed story to date (word count). I'd love to hear what you think ;)  
_


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